


Drink To Me Only

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Collections: TER/MA





	Drink To Me Only

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**Drink To Me Only  
by Jane Symons**

  
_Every sperm is sacred  
Every sperm is great   
And if a sperm gets wasted   
God gets quite irate   
("The Meaning of Life"—Monty Python)_

The Buckmaster Fertility Clinic had been founded in 1922 and, as Nurse DeWinter took his completed donor form and led him to a seat, Alex Krycek wondered if she was one of the original members of staff. 

But as he sat idly opposite her desk in the little waiting area, he decided that she wasn't actually as old as he had first thought. Years of working here, dealing with row upon row of testosterone-laden young men whose sole purpose was to jerk off either for posterity or profit, had obviously hardened her. She was the front line, probably the butt of a constant stream of ribald jokes. Krycek vowed that he would never be so cheap as to make a joke at Nurse DeWinter's expense and then immediately thought of one. DeWinter of her discontent. He giggled. 

She regarded him severely, looking up at him from a close examination of his form. "This is your first time here at the clinic, Mr Whittaker?" 

"Yes, ma'am," Krycek replied, a little too enthusiastically, for the young man sitting next to him snorted derisively into his morning edition of the Washington Post. Nevertheless, Krycek firmly adhered to his enthusiastic expression, his eager to please, puppydog persona. Hell, it had fooled the FBI. Nurse DeWinter was only Skinner in a skirt. The surname and address on his form were false but the rest of the details were as near the truth as he'd dared go. In any event, it was unlikely the clinic would check up on him. Who needed a reference for masturbation technique? 

The wisdom of hanging onto his first name was dubious, he knew, but then a certain someone had once called him Alex, his hand on Krycek's shoulder, and he'd loved the name ever since. 

Krycek glanced across at the two other young men waiting with him. Both professional, with the polished aura of success. They must be here due to the desirability of their genes—designed, of course, by Calvin Klein. In his black leather jacket and denims, dirty t-shirt and newly acquired urchin crop, Krycek felt his current predicament rising up, stretching and yawning, casting its usual shadow over his day. 

He really ought to leave for Hong Kong soon, where he'd been offered protection. Staying in Washington was suicide but he only needed a few more days in which to implement his plan for revenge. And since the plan involved meeting up with Fox Mulder again, Krycek was anxious to carry it through. But his main problem was money—which was why he was sitting in the Buckmaster Fertility Clinic. 

Absentmindedly, Krycek stared ahead at a poster on breast feeding and wondered if it was possible to jerk off as a full time career. Granted the clinic was paying $50 a go but in order for someone to live comfortably, they'd have to masturbate so many times each day that they'd be on their knees in no time. And could the clinic really afford someone like that anyway? 

Krycek wondered if he would be able to find work in Hong Kong and whether a 9 to 5 job with pension, life insurance, a desk diary and one of those plastic tidy things for pencils and pens was entirely out of the question. The fact that his last employer had tried to blow him up with a car bomb wouldn't look too good on his resume but that only meant he'd have to be a little bit more creative than most people when looking for work. 

"Alex Whittaker, please." 

Krycek got to his feet with some relief. The poster was beginning to make him feel queasy. 

Nurse DeWinter showed him into a small cheerful room, painted grass green with a border of flowers. In true businesslike fashion, the nurse handed him a plastic beaker and said briskly, "For your donation." 

"Right." Krycek felt a sudden irrational nervousness, as if absurdly he may not be up to the task in hand, as it were. The room, Nurse DeWinter and the plastic cup were all combining to produce a state of temporary impotence. "Um... how long have I got to... um..." He trailed off awkwardly. A moment ago he'd been laughing at this woman's expense, now it seemed as if she was fluent in a language he was only just trying to master. 

A tiny slither of warmth seeped through a crack in Nurse DeWinter's frosty exterior. She patted Krycek's shoulder. "As this is your first time, son, you take as long as you need." She indicated a magazine rack in the corner of the room. "There's some pictures over there that may help." 

Krycek felt pathetically grateful to her. As she closed the door behind her, he rushed over to the rack and rifled through the contents. Spice Girls, Madonna, Daryl Hannah, gross. He checked further into the depths of the rack. Soft porn with women holding their legs wide apart. Triple gross. Not a millemetre of naked male flesh to be found. This was intolerable. He walked out to Nurse DeWinter's station. 

"Are those the only kinds of magazines you have in stock?" he asked her. 

"This is a sperm bank, Mr Whittaker, not a public library." 

Krycek felt his testicles shrivel up a little bit more. "Well it's just that—that they're not much help to me." 

The nurse narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "How long is it since you last had sex?" 

"I'd say..." Krycek checked his watch, "about three quarters of an hour ago." 

"Oh really! Weren't you told when you made the appointment that donors should not have had sex previously for two days." 

"Two days!" Krycek shouted this so loudly that a passing clinic attendant jumped like a startled hare. "But that's absurd. Twenty-four hours maybe. How could I possibly survive without sex for two days?" 

Nurse DeWinter looked him up and down disdainfully. "I'm sure it wouldn't prove fatal. For either party." 

Krycek winced as he felt his puppydog persona going out of the window. "Hey, I can make it with almost anybody almost anytime but—" He saw the nurse's expression change to one of interest. "Well, that is, maybe not just anybody. A certain proportion of the population. The male portion," he added with an air of finality. Nurse DeWinter backed off as if he'd given her an electric shock. "But being on my own and in such a clinical sort of setting, my sperm needs some inspiration. All the magazines you've got have women in them. Haven't you got any pictures of naked men? Naked dark haired FBI agents, that kind of thing. Or do you have a George Clooney lookalike doctor around here at a loose end? Ha! Loose end!" Krycek giggled over his own joke. 

Nurse DeWinter's mouth remained fixed in a firm straight line. She stared at him for some time trying to find the right words. "Just use your imagination," she said finally in a sour tone. "You look as if you have plenty of it." 

Krycek walked back into his little room. There was only one solution. It wasn't quite how he'd intended things to work out but then again he'd always believed in spontaneity. Just thinking about phoning the man up was giving him a hard on. Krycek unzipped his jeans and released his growing erection, running his fingers over the crown the way he liked it, tickling the underside. With his free hand, he pulled the mobile out of his jacket pocket and punching Mulder's number—slowly and deliciously—added another inch or so to his length. "Mulder's office." Scully's voice. 

Oh this was unexpected. Was Mulder ill or was he so paranoid these days that he wouldn't even answer his own phone? "Hi Scully." Only slightly breathless. "It's Alex Krycek. Remember me?" 

"Alex Krycek." She said the name in a vague sort of way, as if trying hard to remember someone she met once at a party. She was cool that Scully, nothing seemed to phase the woman. But he was sure that behind the scenes of that detached voice pandamonium was breaking out, she was busy setting up a trace, switching on a tape machine and if Mulder was there she was probably gesticulating wildly at him like a demented mime artist. _That's okay, Scully, take your time while I really get myself going here._ Drops of precum started to ooze from the tip of his penis and Krycek smoothed it sensuously over his length. "Yes, Krycek, I remember you. How can I help you?" 

_What you mean, Scully, is how can I keep you talking for a little longer so that we can trace you and Mulder can finally get hold of you to beat you to a pulp._ That idea made his erection twitch in delight. He stifled a groan. "Can I speak to Mulder please?" 

"Sure." There was a pause, more delaying tactics, and then Mulder was on the line. 

"What the fuck do you want, you lying murdering little piece of shit?" His voice jumped a little on the last word and Krycek heard what sounded like a slap. Scully was probably offering her opinion that Mulder was not conducting the interview in a professional manner. 

"Oh God, Mulder," Krycek groaned. _Oh yes, talk dirty to me, Mulder, that's so good._ Unconsciously, Krycek's fist started to work hard at his cock. He was growing a little breathless. "Hey, you may not believe this but — " 

" _May_ not?" 

"—but I'm in a Fertility Clinic here in dear old Washington DC, trying to do my part to provide a better future for the American people." Surprisingly there was no smartass reply to this, merely a stunned silence and so Krycek continued. It wouldn't be long now, he was almost on the brink from the pleasure of hearing Mulder's voice and the danger he was putting himself into. He moaned deeply. "Well actually I'm broke and they pay good money per cup here." 

"Krycek, have you finally gone out of your mind completely? What the hell does all this have to do with me? And what the fuck are you doing?" 

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing, Mulder?" Krycek's voice was suggestive and breathy. "Ahhhh! I'm working hard at my donation. It's awfully cold and clinical in here. Urghh!" _Definitely not long now._ A moment's panic when he thought he'd mislaid the cup. And then he was ready, cup in place, phone tucked under his chin. "I was in need of a little help and inspiration. I was thinking of you. Needed to hear your voice. Oh God, Mulder! Was thinking of your fingers round my cock. Squeezing it. Your long beautiful fingers. Round my cock. Working it hard. So hard. It's so good. Oh fuck! Mulder! Argghhhh!!" 

* * *

Nurse DeWinter sat at her station, filling in more forms, trying to ignore the crescendo of sexual excitement emanating from Mr Whittaker's room. She glanced over at the three young men waiting their turn. They were making worthy efforts to ignore what was going on, one of them staring hard at the carpet, the other two studying magazines. 

"It's so good. Oh fuck! Mulder! Argghhhh!" 

By now she could sense all three men staring hard at her, perhaps wondering whether to run away or not. She looked up at them with what she hoped was a reassuring expression. "You know, some of our clients like to put everything they've got into their donation." 

* * *

"Arggghhh! Arggghhh!!" 

Mulder was holding the phone away from his ear, looking at it in disbelief. He was inventing new ways to kill Alex Krycek for putting him in this ridiculous and embarrassing situation. 

Scully was listening in on her own extension, wincing as her eardrums were assailed by Krycek's screams. She looked as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Mulder wondered how he could talk himself out of this. 

"Have you got the trace?" he asked quickly. 

"Yes. The Buckmaster Fertility Clinic. I've put out an APB. It's a 25 minute drive from here." Scully paused. "Mulder, what is going on?" 

He replaced the receiver gingerly. "History, Scully. A few years from now, the place could be littered with tiny Alex Kryceks. There's a thought to put the fear of God into anyone." 

"Except Krycek. I doubt if he'll ever be fathering the species in the usual way." Scully put her pen to her lips and looked hard at Mulder. "I meant, Mulder, what is going on with you two? How long has Krycek felt like that about you?" 

"Like what, Scully? That was just Krycek playing one of his sick little games." He was on his feet, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. "C'mon, let's go." 

Scully was staring pointedly at Mulder's crotch. "And how long have you been feeling like that about him?" 

* * *

She wouldn't drop the subject even in the car, hanging onto it tenaciously like a bloodhound on a fox trail. Mulder always appreciated her staying power but not when it was directed at him. He didn't feel like talking about Krycek, not at that particular time. He hadn't yet had a chance to marshall his own reactions to Krycek's bravura performance, to inspect the little army of emotions waging war inside him or to check for any casualties. Mulder had been taken by surprise, ambushed into betraying feelings that he could barely acknowledge, even to himself. 

"I have never in my entire life," Scully was saying as if she was as old as Methusula, "heard such a raw, uninhibited and desperate display of sexual obsession from anyone." 

Mulder glared across at her, willing her to be silent, nearly missing a red traffic light and shoving his foot down hard on the brake. They both jolted forward. He would have replied, "Yeah and wasn't it sexy as hell?" if he'd felt more sure of himself. And it had been. And it still was. Krycek's voice, so husky and deep with need, was continually resonating through his mind. _Thinking of you... I needed to hear your voice..._ Mulder turned on the car radio to drown it out but Scully immediately switched it off, thinking that he was trying to finish the conversation. 

"Did you hear what I said, Mulder?" 

"Yeah, I heard." He stared into the distance. 

She sighed, loudly. "This isn't just prurient interest, you know. That man is a murderer. He killed my sister and your father and I want him apprehended today and put behind bars. I need to know that you're one hundred per cent behind me on this, Mulder. So, are you going to tell me, were you and Krycek lovers?" 

He didn't want to know why even that question excited him and added yet another notch to his sexual tension. "No we were not. And I want him apprehended today every bit as much as you do." He noticed he couldn't quite bring himself to add "and put behind bars". He told himself it was because he didn't want to sound like a parrot. 

"So why did he do it then?" 

"I told you, Scully, it's just one of Krycek's sick little games." 

She snorted. "Some game. We know he's on the run, that Cancerman's tried to get rid of him. It's a very dangerous game he's playing, if you ask me." 

_I hadn't actually_ Mulder thought and then chastised himself for being childish. "This may seem hard for you to believe but Alex Krycek does have a highly developed sense of humour. Sick, maybe, but highly developed. Hard to reconcile with the temperament of a cold hearted assassin. He must have been an awful headache for the black lunged bastard." 

"And you expect me to feel grateful to Krycek for that?" 

"Think about it, Scully." Mulder felt a sense of relief. He'd at last thought of something intelligent to put before his exacting partner. "Why do people usually attract attention to themselves? Because they need help. I think Krycek wants our help to bring Cancerman down. He knows he can't do it on his own." 

Scully gave Mulder a sideways glance. "There are some things he can manage very well on his own." 

Mulder didn't bite. He'd risen to the surface enough for one day. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sound of Krycek's voice in his mind and the feeling of anticipation churning in his stomach. 

In spite of the fact that local law enforcement officers had been promptly deployed to the clinic, sealing the place up like a vacuum, Alex Krycek had somehow managed to leave the building. Although Mulder felt a keen sense of disappointment, he wasn't surprised. This was probably the first phase of whatever plan Krycek had in mind. Contact had been established. 

Mulder interviewed a terrifying looking woman, Nurse DeWinter, who seemed less troubled by Krycek's extraordinary behaviour than the fact that he had taken his donation with him. 

* * *

_Sperm may live in the human body for two to three  
days after mating. It can also be stored in a frozen   
state for months or years and still retain the capacity   
to fertilise eggs when thawed._

On leaving his apartment the following morning, Mulder discovered a canister on his doorstep. It was about 20 centimetres tall and looked like the kind of equipment used to keep material in a frozen state. It might also be a bomb. Knowing that Krycek was around, Mulder always had to allow for the fact that he could be his next victim and this sense of potential danger perversely only made Krycek more alluring. There was a label around the neck of the canister which read "Drink me". Well, curiouser and curiouser. But it could still be a bomb... After all, he had a reputation for paranoia to keep up. 

Mulder stayed in his apartment and phoned the Lone Gunmen. They were there, bless them, within 15 minutes, with their little black box of tricks. 

"Maybe your mother was passing by and dropped you in some hot chicken soup," Langley suggested helpfully. 

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Don't you think if your mother had driven 300 miles out of her way to bring you some chicken soup, she'd at least say hello?" 

"Dunno," Langley shrugged, "as far as I know I never had one." 

"One what, a tin of chicken soup or a mother?" 

"A mother." 

Mulder wondered why it was so easy to get into a discussion over absurdities with Langley. "Don't be ridiculous, you weren't just found under a gooseberry bush, were you." 

"It could be set to detonate on touch alone," Byers announced grimly, bringing a touch of reality to the proceedings. 

Frohike finished waving a wand-like sensor over the canister and then sat back on his heels, wiping his brow in a dramatic kind of way. "There's no detonatory device in here," he said. "More like frozen chicken soup." 

Mulder grinned. "Well that's solved my lunch problem then." 

"Leave it with us," Byers suggested in a business like way. "We'll analyse the contents for you." 

With some reluctance, Mulder told Scully about the canister with the Drink Me label that had been left on his doorstep earlier that morning. He didn't particularly want to lay himself open to further ridicule but neither did he relish the idea of being accused of withholding information from his partner. 

"Ah," Scully said, as if something had just occurred to her. "Alex in Wonderland." 

Mulder laughed in disbelief. "What, you think Krycek is following a Lewis Carroll script?" 

"What happens to Alice when she drinks the bottle marked Drink Me? Does she get bigger or smaller?" 

"I think she gets smaller," Mulder frowned. "Then she eats the cake with the Eat Me label and gets bigger." 

"Hmm. Neither scenario is very helpful to our investigation," Scully mused. "Though it might be worthwhile putting a 24 hour watch on your apartment to see if Krycek intends to deliver anything else." 

"We're not 100% sure yet that he left the canister, Scully." Mulder lounged back in his chair, one long leg dangling over the arm rest. 

"Who else could it be?" She stood up, adjusting her skirt, brushing off a speck of fluff. "Anyway, I'm going to get some coffee. I don't want to even think about what makes Alex Krycek smaller or bigger." 

* * *

Five minutes before he was due to leave off for lunch, Mulder received an email from the Lone Gunmen, inviting him to call round to their office. 

Grinning wickedly, Frohike greeted him with, "Chicken soup's off. You'll have to make alternative arrangements for lunch." 

Flinging his jacket over a chair, Mulder braced himself to endure yet more ridicule. Langley was smiling like Carroll's Cheshire Cat and even Byers was sniggering. Oh deep joy. What on earth had they found? 

"Okay boys," Mulder said with a sigh, "let's hear it. What was in the canister?" 

Byers paused for dramatic effect and then announced, "Sperm." The word seemed very odd coming from his business-like mouth. 

"Excuse me?" Mulder looked so taken aback that Langley and Frohike began to giggle helplessly. 

"Sperm. Originally delivered to you in a frozen state but it's now defrosted and at room temperature." 

Frohike managed to say, "That means you've only got about 24 hours, Mulder, if you want to get pregnant." 

"Yeah but that would play merry hell with my promotion prospects," Mulder drawled. "Well there's no need to tell me whose it is. Only Krycek could pull a sick stunt like that." 

"That boy may be sick," said Langley fondly, "but he is so gorgeous." 

"Langley," Frohike put in, "has created a screen saver that says _Krycek is a babe_ in large purple letters." 

"Christ." Mulder absentmindedly reached for a sandwich that was lying edges curling on one of the desks. He bit into it ferociously as if he held it personally responsible for all the nonsense currently surrounding him. 

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Byers warned him, "it's been there at least five days to my knowledge." 

Mulder glanced briefly at the half eaten sandwich in his hand and then stuffed the remainder in his mouth. "Tastes fine to me." 

"Yuck." Frohike grimaced fastidiously. "You'll eat anything, Mulder, it's truly disgusting. It defeats me why you bother going out looking for X-Files when, even as we speak, the contents of your refrigerator are growing mould so monstrous and hideous that it would make any form of alien life look tame and uninteresting in comparison." 

"You mean the Chinese meal I ordered six weeks ago? I'm saving that for Halloween. Thought I'd scare the neighbourhood kids with it." 

"Hey, Mulder!" Langley was seated at his computer, busily tapping at the keys. "Come over here. Look at this. I took a surveillance photo of Krycek yesterday." 

Mulder swallowed down the last of his sandwich. "You did what?" 

"He heard the APB," Byers explained, "so as he happened to be in the area, he thought he'd see if he could take a few shots." 

Mulder was rooted to the spot in disbelief. "You mean while were were all breaking our necks trying to apprehend a dangerous killer, you were sitting in your car, taking snaps of him for your photo album?" 

"Hey, Mulder, I would have let you know where he was but after I'd taken the first shot, he just disappeared into thin air. That guy's a real pro, you know. Just slips through the fingers." 

"Like Astroglide," Frohike put in with a leer. 

"Dig this," Langley said proudly, going back to his computer, ignoring Frohike. "Dig this babe." 

"Mulder," Byers added confidentially, "this may be useful information for you since Krycek has recently changed his appearance." 

Reluctantly, Mulder moved over to Langley's screen. There was a photograph of Krycek, glancing cautiously over his shoulder before crossing the road. Nice to know he was officer friendly. 

"I'm really glad you showed me this, Langley. He's changed his jeans and had his hair cropped short. Wow, I may never ever have recognised him otherwise." 

Langley was staring starry-eyed at the screen. "Yeah but dig that babe. He is so—" He searched for an apt description. 

"Scruffy?" Byers suggested. 

"Christopher Robin?" from Frohike. 

"No, no, he's so—so alleycat! That's the word!" 

Mulder stared at the photograph. Damn. Langley was right. And Mulder really didn't need any more adjectives to associate with Alex Krycek. He had enough of his own. Beautiful, sleek, sensual, dangerous. Yes, alleycat was the word. An image occurred to him of Krycek, wild with passion, digging those alleycat nails into his back, yowling with pleasure. No, he had to stop this, he couldn't face Scully with yet another erection. 

"Well, boys," Mulder straightened up and reached out for his jacket. "This has all been very entertaining but I'm no further forward now than I was this morning. What I need to know is what Krycek wants." 

"I'd have thought that was painfully obvious," Frohike said with another leer. 

"What you mean, Mulder," Byers interpreted effortlessly, "is that you want to know Krycek's larger game plan." 

"Exactly," said Mulder gratefully. 

"We'll try and find out for you." 

"Thank you," said Mulder, even more grateful. 

"Here!" Frohike handed the canister back to him. "Don't forget your sperm. And I can hardly wait to see what he leaves for you with an Eat Me label on." 

* * *

_Only one sperm fertilises each egg, even though  
300,000 to 400,000 sperm are contained in an average   
ejaculation._

"Here, puss puss!" 

The canister was standing on Mulder's bedside table. In honour of the occasion, he had removed the files, books, clothes and videos that normally took up residence on his bed and celebrated with sheets fresh from the laundry. He'd even sprayed the room with air freshener. 

Still tingling from the shower, Mulder lay between the crisp sheets, running his hands lazily over his body, getting into the mood. 

"Here, puss. Come here, you dirty little alley cat." 

At that, Mulder imagined Krycek looking up from the sofa where he lay sprawled out, washing himself. _No, maybe that's carrying the cat analogy a little too far._

Krycek is laying sprawled out over the sofa naked. Hot, hungry and willing as a tom on heat. _Better._

Hearing Mulder's voice, he moves with easy sensual grace from the living room into the bedroom. As he stands in the doorway, he seems to be all points like a siamese—pointed ears, nose, chin. Jutting purple erection. Even his hair is spiky. _Oh yes, good, very good._

Mulder moves aside the sheet in invitation. Bounding in one playful movement on top of Mulder, Krycek licks his face with a pink sharp tongue and rubs his beautiful sleekness all over Mulder's body. He's making breathy little moans that could almost be a purr. He runs his stubbly cheek harshly over Mulder's chest and stomach, leaving a trail of delicious prickly heat. Then he's back working on Mulder's face, licking and sucking at his lips, driving that sharp rough tongue between them, ramming it hard against Mulder's. 

Krycek is all need, burning, sluttish, rampant need. And because of his animal passion, he gives no thought to Mulder's pleasure, grabs Mulder's hand and slaps it onto his own erection. When Mulder fingers have tightened satisfactorily around his shaft, Krycek humps the grip shamelessly, knees either side of Mulder's hips, hands on Mulder's shoulders, wailing in need. 

"Work it hard. Hard. So good. Fuck!" 

It is, as Scully put it, a raw uninhibited and desperate display but there's something magnificent about being the recipient of all this need. Mulder starts to moan too, becoming as turned on as his lover, writhing under him. It doesn't take long for Krycek to reach climax, snapping forward, screaming and yowling, burying his face in Mulder's chest hairs, sinking teeth into his flesh, nails into his shoulders. He shoots load after load of sperm onto Mulder's stomach. 

Mulder spreads the sperm over his lower body. He rubs it into the flesh of his thighs, his pubic hair, all over his testicles and then finally applies a generous coating around his throbbing twitching erection. It smells and feels so good, wicked and tangy. Mulder can feel Krycek's cat green eyes burning into him, watching him in breathless fascination as he teases the tip of his penis with his thumb, then runs gentle fingers up and down his slick shaft, teasing himself until it becomes impossible to hold back, then gripping hard, pumping his length with rapid even strokes until he's crying out with his own release, his sperm blending with Krycek's, covering his stomach in splashes of white cream. 

"Christ!" Mulder groaned. "Oh Christ, that was amazing." He must have passed out with the strength of his orgasm. Extraordinary. The best fantasy he'd had in a long time. Maybe the best ever. 

The empty canister lay beside him on the bed, the Drink Me label smudged and damp. Fascinated, Mulder ran fingertips over his stomach, collecting an amalgam of sperm, placing it on his tongue. Their combined tastes made him moan in pleasure. Mulder/Krycek. United. Connected. _That which sperm hath joined..._

He had just been enjoying a fantasy about having sex with the man who murdered his father. Why didn't it feel like betrayal? Why did it feel, at this point in his life, like the only thing he wanted? _I must be sicker than I thought,_ Mulder decided. He would put himself in for therapy next week. Meanwhile, he hugged his pillow, his wicked alleycat lover, and fell into a deep satisfied sleep. 

* * *

PART TWO 

The oddest little group he'd seen in a long time. Krycek peered through the spy hole in the front door of his apartment, rifling through his memory, trying to recollect where he'd seen them before. Then he remembered the file he'd seen on them—the Lone Gunmen, Mulder's weird anarchic friends. 

Lined up in a row, gazing patiently and innocently at the door, they could have been carol singers hoping for mince pies. Or maybe not. The one he remembered as Frohike looked more like a reject from a Snow White audition. _We're sorry, Mr Frohike, but we wouldn't want to frighten the kids._ Langley was all hair and glasses. Only Byers gave a flavour of normality to the group and for that reason Krycek trusted him the least. He put the safety chain on the door. 

* * *

The Lone Gunmen stood in front of the door to Krycek's apartment in a little line, aware that they were being carefully scrutinised through the spy hole. They heard the sound of a safety chain being put in place. 

"Remember," Byers whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "this man is a liar and a murderer. However charming he may appear on the surface—" this was aimed specifically at Langley—"he cannot under any circumstances be trusted. He is extremely dangerous." 

"Roger and out," Langley said with heavy sarcasm. 

"Shall we run away," Frohike said with a grin, "now that we've rung his doorbell?" 

The door clanked open, rattling on its chain. Two large green eyes peered at them through the gap. Krycek was holding a gun so that they could clearly see it. "Hi girls," he said brightly. "Kind of you to call but I'm all stocked up with Avon right now." 

Langley snorted in amusement and Frohike poked him in the ribs with his elbow. Byers stepped forward. He gave the impression that, had he been wearing a hat, he would have lifted it politely. 

"Ah, Mr Krycek, if I may refresh your memory, we're Mulder's friends, the Lone Gunmen. I wonder if we could have a word with you in private." 

Frohike was holding a small box between both hands, as if it was something precious. 

Krycek regarded it suspiciously. "What the fuck is that?" He indicated the box with his gun. 

"Chocolate cake," Frohike said proudly. "We know you like chocolate." 

Krycek's eyes narrowed. He glanced at Langley who was staring at him longingly and then back to Frohike. "How'd you know that?" 

"Mulder told us," Langley said. 

"Mulder told you I liked chocolate?" 

"Sure." Langley shrugged, not understanding and rather resenting the fact that this seemed to mean so much to Krycek. "He often mentioned it when you were partners. That Krycek, he'd say, he really loves chocolate." 

It was like finding the correct password, a magic key to a door. Krycek fumbled with the chain and opened up. "One at a time," he said. 

Byers walked in first, submitting to a thoroughly professional body search. Then Frohike, still holding the cake box. Then Langley, who appeared to be having some trouble with his breathing. 

"I have to say that I strongly approve of your level of paranoia," Frohike said earnestly. 

Krycek let out a breathy sort of giggle which made them all jump a little in surprise. Langley studied their host more carefully. He wore a baggy jumper and jeans which made him look more like a college freshman than a dangerous assassin and this, combined with the giggle, made Langley wonder if his alleycat was more domesticated than he'd realised. 

"Come into the kitchen and I'll put on the kettle for tea." Krycek gestured vaguely across the living room with his gun. "You picked a good time to call. I've just finished my book and I hate that moment when you come to the end of a really good book and for a while you don't know what to do with yourself. Know what I mean?" 

They all looked at him blankly for a moment. Langley pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, a gesture he made when confused and considered whether to revise alleycat to pussycat. If it wasn't for the gun which Krycek handled with the nonchalance of long familiarity.... Langley followed the other two, bouncing slightly on the plush living room carpet. The apartment was well decorated and expensively furnished and they were all wondering how Krycek could afford to live there. The kitchen alone was bigger than their office, table and chairs in the centre of the room, expensive looking tiles on the floors and walls. Maybe this is what blood money had bought him. 

"Nice apartment," Byers offered. 

Krycek grinned disarmingly. "I know. Normally I couldn't afford a place like this, furnished and everything, but the landlord fucks me once or twice a week and that seems to take care of the rent." 

Langley made a funny little moan and Frohike delivered another sharp dig in the ribs. Byers gave a polite cough and remarked on the pleasant view from the window. 

Krycek watched them with a faintly amused expression. "Hey, let's have a look at that cake." He pulled a china plate from out of one of the expensive fitted cupboards and placed it in the middle of the table. 

Frohike proudly arranged the cake. In the middle of the thick chocolate butter icing was a label with "Eat Me" printed on it. The Lone Gunmen waited for Krycek's reaction. 

It came in another surprising breathy giggle. "So Mulder got my little present then." 

"Yeah he did and it was certainly a surprise," Frohike said in careful understatement. 

"And did he?" Krycek asked innocently. 

"Did he what?" 

"Drink it?" 

There was an awkward silence. No-one knew quite what to say to this. 

Byers cleared his throat again. "That's a question I think you'll have to ask Mulder himself." 

"Can't wait," Krycek said. And then, with a hint of awe in his voice, "And is this cake from Mulder?" 

"Certainly is." 

Krycek gazed at it longingly, with an expression of reverence on his face. His colour seemed to heighten, his cheeks turning pink. Langley figetted impatiently, bringing Krycek back to earth. 

"Okay, guys, sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Only you should all sit one side of the table, you know, like in the Mad Tea Party." 

"Well Byers can be the Mad Hatter," Langley said somberly, "I'm not in the mood." 

"Guess I'll end up being the Dormouse," Frohike muttered, taking the chair in the middle. 

"And it's ten to three," Byers said, settling himself down. "Perfect." 

Krycek had been putting the kettle on the stove and searching out tea cups. "No," he said firmly, "it should be 6 o'clock for the Mad Tea Party. It was Rupert Brooke who said _Stands the church clock at ten to three And is there honey still for tea?_ " 

"Christ," Langley said under his breath. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Don't tell me he likes poetry." 

"Well guess who's Alice." Krycek fluttered his eyelashes and took the chair at the head of the table, dropping his gun on his lap. But he managed to go up a little in Langley's esteem by waiting until they had all taken a mouthful of cake before eating any of his own portion. And the Lone Gunmen went up in Krycek's estimation by waiting until he had taken a sip of tea before drinking any themselves. 

Paranoia was alive and well and living in Wonderland. "How did you guys find out where I lived? I thought I'd covered my tracks pretty well." 

"You don't honestly think we're going to tell you." Byers leant back in his chair with a self satisfied smile. "But I will say that Mulder would never have found you on his own. We had to use our combined resources to find you." 

Krycek looked pleased at this. "Man," he said fervently, "this cake is amazing." He grabbed another slice, without offering any more to anyone else. It was as if he thought he'd never eat chocolate cake again in his life. "So you're here to sound me out, huh? Will you be reporting back on my table manners?" He took an enormous bite of cake, his cheeks filling out like a hamster's. 

Frohike grinned at him. Devoid of Langley's jealousy and Byer's fastidiousness, he found that Krycek was rapidly growing on him. He could see why Mulder had been so enchanted by his partner. "The parameters of our investigation could be broadly defined as _Twinkle twinkle little rat, how we wonder what you're at_." 

Krycek came dangerously near to laughing out loud and losing most of the cake in his mouth but he kept himself under control. He wouldn't willingly part with any of his cake. His shoulders shook with amusement. 

"In other words," Byers continued, "Mulder wants to know your game plan." 

"Well," Krycek said indistinctly, his mouth still very full, "master and slave could be fun." 

Byers winced in that fastidious way that he had. Langley huffed loudly with impatience. Frohike was beginning to realise that negotiations with the plain speaking Krycek would only progress if they loosened up a little and neither Byers nor Langley seemed capable of doing so. 

"I wonder," said Frohike, "if the Mad Hatter and the March Hare would mind leaving Alice and the Dormouse to talk things over." 

There was a short silence, punctuated by the sounds of Krycek innocently chewing cake and slurping tea, while the two Lone Gunmen thought over this proposal. As Mulder's closest friend, Frohike's opinion in this case carried a good deal of weight and when Krycek sat back in his chair, rubbed his stomach and belched vociferously, Byers came to the conclusion that Frohike was right. 

"Langley and I will attend to matters at the office," he announced gravely. 

Smiling to himself, Krycek put on the kettle for more tea. 

"You did that on purpose, didn't you," Frohike said when they were alone. 

Krycek grinned at him sheepishly and sat down again. "Well, I can't stand prudes." 

"Is that why you shot Mulder's father? I understand he was a bit of a prude." 

Krycek looked at Frohike sadly. Without Byers and Langley to torment, Krycek seemed suddenly to have turned from naughty college boy into what Frohike supposed must be the real Krycek, a scared and confused young man. "You're Mulder's closest friend, right?" 

"Yes, I have that dubious distinction." 

Krycek appeared to be satisfied that he was as near to Mulder as he could get for the moment. "I shot his father, yes, but I had reasons for doing it. And I didn't kill Melissa or Duane Barry or even the damn tram driver." 

"Regular little Snow White, aren't we. So what were the reasons?" 

Krycek ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair, making it spike up charmingly. "The bastards were delighted when I fell in love with Mulder. Made me so much easier to manipulate. I'd do more or less anything they wanted as long as I could see that it was in Mulder's best interests. They briefed me that on no account was Bill Mulder to tell his son about the Project because that knowledge would make Mulder too much of a danger and he'd have to be eliminated as well." 

"Well I can see your reasons but to kill—" 

Krycek exhaled sharply. "If it makes you feel any better, I see that old man's face every fucking day of my life. I live in dread of him coming back to haunt me and dragging me off to hell like Don Giovanni." 

It was a chilling picture. Krycek obviously possessed a vivid imagination and a good education. At least he could suffer with classical elegance. "But Mulder found out about the Project anyway and he's still alive." 

"For God's sake, Frohike, he doesn't know what's really going on. He discovered a few tidbits along the way and that's all." 

"And you have this information?" Frohike's mouth was beginning to go dry, remembering what had happened to The Thinker. 

"Yeah, most of it anyway, enough to put the Smoker away for life. And I want to give it to Mulder." 

"Aren't you putting Mulder's life in danger if you do? I thought you didn't want to do that." 

Krycek fiddled with the cake in front of him and disconsolately put a small piece of it in his mouth. "He won't be in any danger this way because they won't know he has the information, that's the difference. But once he does have it, he's got to use it effectively. Thorough groundwork, then move in on the Consortium fast and clean so they don't know what's hit them." 

Frohike smiled at him. "So it's not just sex games you want to play with Mulder." 

"Let's face it," Krycek sighed without returning the smile, "I'll be lucky if Mulder so much as spits at me, let alone has sex with me." 

Frohike regarded his host solemnly. Krycek looked so forlorn that it was tempting to tell him that, in Frohike's opinion, Mulder was actually as much in love with him as Krycek was with Mulder. But that was an item of dangerous knowledge if ever there was one. So Frohike contented himself with saying, rather obliquely, "You know what the Buddhists say, don't you. The trouble with desire is that one achieves it." 

* * *

_The rituals which precede mating in many  
species are often long and elaborate._

"Hi Mulder. A deserted warehouse, what an original meeting place. Oh, by the way, you owe me $50 for the sperm." 

"Krycek, you little bastard, you finally admitted to killing my father." 

"I admitted something else too which explains why I did it." 

"You think I believe all that shit you gave Frohike about being in love with me?" 

"You're very selective about your shit, aren't you. You believe the shit about your father but not the shit about love." 

"Don't lecture me on being selective! If you'd been more selective about who you worked for, my father might still be alive." 

"No he wouldn't, Mulder. I think even you will admit that he was involved in the conspiracy right up to his drunken eyeballs. He was going to talk and they were determined to eliminate him." 

"How dare you talk about my father like that, you of all fucking people, you treacherous, murdering, lying piece of shit!" 

"Oh we're back on the shit now, are we?" 

"Yeah, well maybe that's all I can think about when I look at you!" 

"Fuck you, Mulder, and you can tell your weird little friend where he can stick his fucking Buddhist koans!" 

Advantage: Mulder. 

* * *

"I can't believe you blew that meet. After all the trouble we took to set it up." 

"He's just impossible, Frohike. I was fine, I was really cool until he says in that whiny teasing nasally sort of tone he can put on _you owe me $50 for the sperm_." 

"That was a pretty good impersonation, Mulder. But why do you let him get to you like that? You're not like this with anyone else." 

"And what exactly are you implying by that? No, I don't want to hear any more of this crap about love. He shot my father for money, I know he did. That's the only reason." 

"So how come Krycek's jerking off for money in a fertility clinic?" 

"Whose side are you on, Frohike?" 

"Well, look, cupid or no cupid, we're going to have to try another meet." 

* * *

"Is this venue more at one with your sensibilities, Krycek?" 

"Well, yes, you're really making an effort here, Mulder. A bookshop, one of my favourite places." 

"That's what Frohike said." 

"I like Frohike." 

"I understand the feeling is mutual. But then I expect you can ingratiate yourself into more or less anyone's affections given sufficient self-interest." 

"You're standing right next to the Gay Male Interest section, Mulder. Could you be trying to ingratiate yourself into my affections?" 

"You little rat bastard, you were standing here waiting for me." 

"What can I say? It just proves we're made for each other. And keep your voice down or we could get thrown out and I like this shop." 

"Jesus Christ, I just don't believe you, Krycek, you go right out of your way to wind me up, don't you." 

"If I recall correctly, you stepped out of line first with that remark about ingratiating." 

"Look, I'm not interested in a session of Transactional Analysis. Do you or do you not have information that you want to give me?" 

"Yes I do." 

"And what do you want in return that doesn't carry an X-certificate?" 

"Protection." 

"If the information is as hot as you say it is, then you'll get the best." 

"I want personal protection. I want to be able to lay low in your apartment. The only place I'd feel sufficiently safe because it's the last place anyone else thinks is safe." 

"You have got to be joking, Krycek. No way, there is absolutely no way." 

"Okay. Bye Mulder!" 

"Krycek! Krycek, come back here!" 

Advantage: Krycek. 

* * *

Krycek walked into Mulder's apartment and back into his life carrying a shabby leather overnight bag. Mulder had the distinct feeling that things would never be the same again and he was surprised to find it wasn't altogether unpleasant. He watched as Krycek, covered from head to foot in melting snow, shook himself like a homeless puppy who'd just found shelter. The young man still wore only his leather jacket, jumper and jeans, sadly insufficient protection against the weather. Mulder thought back to what Frohike had said about Krycek being short of money and then chastised himself—Krycek had made his own choices. Nevertheless, Mulder felt almost apologetic about pointing a gun at him. 

"Hi Mulder." A shy smile and a glance from under those wicked lashes. 

_Oh no, that's not going to work with me, you little asshole._ "Where are the rest of your things?" 

Krycek dropped the bag on the floor, sending snowflakes all over the place and gestured to it as if making an introduction. "This is it, Mulder, these are my wordly goods." He watched as Mulder opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. "Oh I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's not much to show for 30 years of living. And then you're thinking, why should I care, he made his own choices, he brought this all on himself." 

Mulder took refuge in a higher philosophical stance. "Krycek, you and I will get along much better if you don't try to second guess what I'm thinking." 

"So I was right, huh?" Krycek giggled. The breathy sort of giggle that had so surprised the Lone Gunmen was no surprise to Mulder, only an unnecessary reminder of the effect Krycek had on him when they were partners. That giggle used to create wicked fingers of pleasure tickling at Mulder's testicles and those fingers were back again now. Time to establish some control before those fingers found their way up his ass. 

Mulder sauntered away from Krycek into the living room. "I'm sure you don't need a guided tour. God alone knows how many times you've broken in here. You're intimately familiar with the plumbing system, of course, and you probably even know my favourite brand of toothpaste." 

"Sensodyne for sensitive teeth and gums." 

"You have no shame, do you, Krycek." 

His new lodger smiled and lowered his lashes like a beautiful pet used to receiving caresses and compliments, then looked up again to gaze with devastating accuracy into Mulder's soul. Krycek seemed to like what he saw. His smile deepened. 

Mulder found himself staring into wide set jungle-green eyes with the chilling certainty that they had killed. Not so much an alleycat, more a hungry lion. _Maybe if I lock him up somewhere and throw the odd gazelle into the room every now and then, I'll get to live through this._ Mulder fought back a wave of panic—or was it a sudden rare attack of common sense that told him this wasn't a very sensible thing to be doing. _Listen,_ he told himself, _you must keep your cool. You are after all the one holding the gun, though admittedly it may feel more like the other way round. You're the one in control, you know how Krycek feels about you but he has no idea how you feel about him. For all he knows, you could be planning to chop him up into tiny little pieces once he's given you the information._ That felt a lot better. 

"Listen," Mulder said generously, "make yourself comfortable and help yourself to a beer. And you can use my bedroom—as you probably know, I like to sleep on the sofa." 

"Okay." Krycek picked up his bag. "Thanks." 

Not surprisingly, it didn't take Krycek long to unpack. He moved with that effortless grace he had through the living room and into the kitchen. Mulder switched on the computer, trying to get the evening off to a professional start. 

There was a sudden strangled cry from the kitchen. Mulder found Krycek backing away from the refrigerator in horror. 

It was Mulder's turn to giggle. "It's okay, Krycek, that's just my Chinese meal celebrating its six week anniversary." _Yes, indeed, no doubt about who's in control around here._

Advantage: Mulder. 

* * *

It was a long time since Krycek had woken up with a smile on his face. And that morning he considered he had cause for celebration. He was after all lying in Fox Mulder's bed. No point in bemoaning the fact that Fox Mulder wasn't in it. It was an excellent start. 

He got up and took a hot shower, contemplating his current situation with satisfaction. Mulder had managed to persuade Skinner that his apartment was the only safe place for Krycek, and Skinner had agreed to a maximum of two days for Krycek to come up with an in-depth report on the Consortium. Apparently, the Assistant Director was as anxious as Mulder to bring them all to justice, particularly the Smoking Man who had been a thorn in his side for so long. Skinner seemed willing to hold charges against Krycek until he'd seen his report. Krycek agreeing to a 24 hour guard finally clinched the deal. 

_They're going to love my report, they're going to go mad for it. When they read it, it'll blow their minds and they'll forgive me everything._ He studied his wet naked reflection in the mirror with satisfaction. Being on the run was good for the figure. It had toned him down to lean, nervous muscle, no spare flesh anywhere. He wanted Mulder to be the lucky man to enjoy this beautiful, sexy body. 

Krycek lifted up Mulder's towelling gown from the floor and put it on with some reverence. It was still damp from the man's shower. His body had been inside it only an hour or so ago. Krycek took hold of some of the material and lifted it to his face, inhaling the smell of fresh clean Mulder. 

The living room smelt faintly of Mulder's breakfast, coffee and toast. An FBI agent was already on guard, sitting in Mulder's armchair, holding a gun in one hand and a copy of one of Mulder's porn magazines in the other. He was well built, with a physique almost matching Skinner's. Not an easy obstacle to overcome. 

Krycek smiled at him. "You're nice. What's your name?" 

"Special Agent Valentine." 

"Be mine?" Krycek inquired seductively. 

There was no response, only a cold glare. _Well he's not going to be much fun,_ Krycek decided. Very quietly, he intoned a series of Russian words and Special Agent Valentine fell suddenly into a deep sleep. Krycek took away his gun and patted him lightly on the cheek. "Spah koynuhy nawchee." Agent Valentine slept on. 

Krycek looked around the room. He gazed for a moment at the indentations in the sofa, marking the length and breadth of Mulder's restless form. Then he ran his fingers over the cushion. The excitingly familiar smell of Mulder was everywhere. It was like living in heaven. Krycek switched on Mulder's computer, hacking effortlessly into his email. Nothing particularly diverting. He sent Mulder an email, telling him he'd just read his email, suggesting that he thought up a more exacting password and got some more interesting friends. 

There was a note from Mulder in the kitchen, Mulder in full Jewish Mother mode, telling Krycek not to do this and that, telling him he didn't know what time he'd be back that day. _Avoidance tactics will not help you, Mulder._ And there was a PS: Don't eat the fish. _Ha, ha._

Krycek opened the refrigerator door to get some milk and then wished he hadn't. Alien 6 was still there, making his stomach turn over. _How can Mulder live with this? And if he can live with this, he should be able to cope with me better than he does._ Krycek searched for rubber gloves and eventually found some that looked and smelt as if Mulder had spent an afternoon wearing them in a sewerage processor. Gingerly, Krycek put the grostesque remains of the Chinese meal into the waste disposal unit and switched it on with as much relief as Sigourney Weaver must have felt when she blew the alien out into space. 

_Well that's a lot better except that there's still some mould in the refrigerator. It badly needs a clean. And come to think of it, when had these kitchen shelves ever had a wipe over? Or the floor a scrub?_ Krycek wondered if Mulder lived by Quentin Crisp's principle that dust and dirt got no worse after five years. 

_Okay, Mulder, this entire apartment is going to get a clean whether you like it or not. You should be here to stop me._

Advantage: Krycek. 

* * *

Mulder sat opposite Skinner, watching his face as he leafed through the first part of Krycek's report. The Assistant Director was giving nothing away. Occasionally he would stop at a particularly interesting paragraph and stare at it for some time but otherwise, for all his animation, he could have been scanning an airline timetable. Mulder glanced across the room at Scully. She was gazing down at her folded hands. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Finally Skinner looked up. "And he says there's more?" 

"Yes, sir. He's divided the report into two sections, this is an indepth expose of the Consortium members that he wrote last night and today he's working on a full report of their projects." 

Skinner leant back in his chair. The office lights reflected on his glasses and for an eerie moment, Mulder couldn't see his eyes. "I don't need to tell you how dangerous this information is, Agent Mulder. There's enough material here to put Cancer Man away for life and every single Consortium member with him." 

"Yes, sir," Mulder said cautiously, uncertain where Skinner's train of thought was leading. 

"God knows what Krycek's report on their projects will reveal. To be frank with you, Agent Mulder, we're dealing here with crimes of such magnitude and significance that, even from my level, I'd be powerless to initiate the necessary proceedings against them." 

Mulder nodded briefly. "I understand what you're saying, sir, but Krycek has some ideas on how we can work most effectively with the information he's giving us. And he'll include those in the final part of his report." 

Skinner sighed. "Well I guess he'd hardly give us all this if he didn't think we could use it. We'll wait and see what he has to say. Meanwhile I hope you have somewhere safe to keep this." He waved the report in the air. "Personally I'd feel safer babysitting an unstable atom bomb." 

Mulder fought back a grin. His cellphone began to ring, a reminder of his own babysitting duties. His grin quickly faded. "Excuse me, sir. That may be Agent Valentine." 

"Go ahead." 

Fumbling in his pocket, Mulder extricated his phone from the tangle of his handkerchief. "Mulder." 

"Oh hi, Mulder. How's it hanging?" 

"Krycek! What the hell are you doing?" 

"Relax, Mulder, I fitted a scrambler to this phone ages ago. It's perfectly safe to use. Don't let me put a strain on your nerves." 

A suitably cutting reply was on the tip of Mulder's tongue but he was fully aware of Skinner and Scully watching him intently. He swallowed down the remark and tried for the sort of tone he used on people nursing delusions, such as the idea that Elvis was really dead. "What do you want, Krycek?" 

"Parsley and coriander." 

"Is this some kind of code?" 

"I do so love the way your mind works. Nice try but no. I'm cooking Harira with Kefta for this evening." 

"Harira with Kefta?" 

"Balls to you, Mulder." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Minced lamb balls. You have most of the ingredients I need but I've just done an inventory of your spice rack and you only have ground coriander and parsley. I need fresh." 

Mulder said with deadly calm, "Krycek, I am going to count to three and then I am going to switch off my phone and you will manage with dried ingredients and then you will get back to your report." He noticed the corners of Scully's mouth begin to curl. 

Skinner gave an impatient exhalation of breath. "Give him to me," he said sternly. 

_Oh man,_ Mulder thought as he handed Skinner his phone. _Krycek, you're really in for it now._

"Krycek?" Skinner snapped. "I hope you specified Italian flat-leaved parsley. You can't seriously consider making Harira without it." 

"Well obviously, who do you take me for, but Mulder can't get past the dried stuff, let alone what kind of fresh stuff to get." 

"That's okay, I'll make sure he gets it. Do you have fresh lemons?" 

"No, only preserved but hell I'm just slumming it here. Do you use fresh lemon as well?" 

"Every time. It makes one hell of a difference. Preserved lemon in the dish itself but fresh lemon quarters to squeeze onto the Harira when they're served up." 

"Mmm, sounds like a great finishing touch." 

"I'll see you get what you need." 

Skinner handed Mulder back his phone. In a kind of bewildered daze, Mulder put it back in his pocket. He watched Skinner scribble out a brief shopping list, wondering if at some stage during the afternoon, he'd fallen asleep like Alice and this was all some kind of dream. 

"Here," Skinner said. "Get these on the way home. And I want you both back here tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock with Krycek and his final report." 

When Mulder got to the door, Skinner called out, "Agent Mulder?" 

He turned. "Yes, sir?" 

"Enjoy your dinner." The light glinted again on Skinner's glasses. "You have a treat in store." 

Scully was waiting for him in the corridor, wearing a Cheshire cat grin. "Well, well, Mulder, if Krycek was female, I'd be listening out for wedding bells. And my money would be on Skinner for best man." 

Mulder watched her walk off with a self-satisfied gait. It just simply was not fair. Why did everyone enjoy playing with his head so much? 

Advantage: Krycek. 

* * *

When Mulder walked into his apartment later that afternoon, it was like stepping into an unfamiliar world. For one thing, his furniture and floors were shining brightly in a most unsettling manner. And classical music—worse, opera—was pouring out of the kitchen, accompanied by rich and spicy cooking smells. It was as if his mother had suddenly come to town. 

Krycek was out of sight, toiling happily in the kitchen, judging by his efforts to sing along with the soprano who seemed intent on making a record-breaking attempt to shatter all the window panes. Mulder winced. 

Special Agent Valentine was sitting in the armchair, looking uncharacteristically dazed and uncertain of himself. Mulder felt a twinge of sympathy for him—he deserved a special commendation for working under such conditions. 

"You okay?" Mulder asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music. 

Valentine focussed on him and made an effort to pull himself together. "Yeah, fine, Mulder, fine." He looked around him, puzzled. "Everything's fine." He got gingerly to his feet, as if uncertain whether the floor would hold his weight. 

"Nothing to report then." 

Valentine turned a little vague and then re-focussed. "Nothing to report. No. Everything's fine." 

Mulder frowned at him. "Well look, you go home. I'll deal with the prima donna in the kitchen." 

Valentine nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Mulder." He looked around him again, as if unable to believe where he was and then stumbled out of the apartment. 

Mulder went into the bathroom. He substituted the Sensodyne for a tube of Ultrabrite that he'd bought that morning. Wouldn't do any harm to shake Krycek's confidence a little. Then he took a deep breath and strolled into the kitchen. Krycek was leaning over the stove, tasting something out of one of the saucepans. 

"Mmm-Mmm," said Krycek approvingly. "You are going to love this, Mulder. Did you get the coriander and parsley?" 

Mulder tossed a couple of packets over to him, followed by a lemon, and then switched off the radio. The silence seemed almost too much but he couldn't switch it back on—he needed to make his point and stick with it. 

"Oh Mul-der!" Krycek complained. "How could you do that to the poor girl? She's just been duped into a bigamous marriage, the guy wants to take her baby away and you've just deprived her of the satisfaction of stabbing herself to death." 

"It's less messy this way," Mulder said firmly. He pulled off his jacket and slung it over the door knob. 

Krycek began chopping up the coriander. "They used that aria in the film Fatal Attraction, you know." 

"I don't see how that has any relevance," Mulder replied flatly, lying through his teeth. 

Krycek glanced at him over his shoulder. "I get the distinct impression that you're angry with me, Mulder." 

"Angry with you?" Mulder repeated, crossing his arms and leaning back against a counter. He could feel his heart racing and knew it had nothing to do with anger. For some reason, Krycek seemed even more alluring than ever, his hair shining in the kitchen lights, t-shirt fitting snugly across his shoulders, buttocks upturned and firm, slightly separated by black jeans that rode up into the crack. Mulder ached to plunge himself between those cheeks. "What possible reason could I have to be angry with you? You hacked into my private email, you nosed through my apartment under the pretence of cleaning it, you made me a laughing stock by phoning me up at work about your cordon fucking bleu and you've done something very odd to Agent Valentine." 

"Is that all? Must be a good day because I'm usually much more of a pain in the neck than that." 

Mulder smiled, knowing that Krycek couldn't see him. He watched in fascination as Krycek skilfully gathered all the ingredients together. "Well? Aren't you even going to try to justify yourself?" 

Krycek turned to look at him. "Not much point, is there? You already know I'm a bad bad boy." 

"I'd be interested in what you have to say for yourself." 

"Okay." Krycek went back to his ingredients. "I hacked into your email because I wanted to check if you had a lover and if I had any competition. You'll just have to believe me when I tell you I was only cleaning your apartment. I have very little time to prove to you how multi-faceted and truly wonderful I am so if it seems like I'm overdoing things, I'm sorry, but I do have my work cut out for me. And it's not cordon fucking bleu, it's Moroccan fucking cuisine." 

Mulder gave what he hoped was a nonchalent carefree kind of laugh but his heart had given a little leap at Krycek's words. "What about Agent Valentine?" 

"Ah, well that was out of line, I guess." Krycek emptied the saucepans into a casserole dish with all the flair of a professional cook. "I dated a Russian hypnotist for a while and he taught me some interesting stuff. Valentine'll be okay, I just sent him to sleep for a few hours. He was a damned nuisance though, I had to vacuum round him. Maybe next time you could send someone smaller who I can tuck away into a cupboard for the day." Krycek shoved the casserole into the oven and turned round to face Mulder with a devastating smile. "There, that should be ready in about a couple of hours, we have plenty of time to make love." 

Mulder stiffened and bristled into denial. He was afraid. He wanted Krycek so badly that he feared he might die from the experience. "Krycek, by definition, the term making love assumes that both parties are consenting to the experience. When only one party is willing, I think the term is rape." 

"I don't like the sound of your party much, Mulder." Krycek was walking slowly towards him. "You should have come to mine. I was blind for three days." 

"That's Groucho Marx. _Night At The Opera_." 

"See? I knew we were made for each other." He was getting closer. "We even like the same films." 

Mulder floundered around helplessly. The water was deep and dangerous but it had an irresistible pull. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you. Are you such an egotist that you need no encouragement at all?" 

Krycek was standing only inches away from him, so close that Mulder could see the faint boyish freckles on his nose and cheeks. Wicked green eyes hovered in front of him, confirming his happiest dreams and worst nightmares. "I'm sure of you, Mulder, and that's enough. I know the signs and you've been sending them out loud and clear." 

"Oh really?" That put paid to his final card, the one he'd tucked so hopefully up his sleeve—deny everything. It worked for Cancer Man but then he probably hadn't had to stand in a hot kitchen with a very sexy and determined Alex Krycek. Or maybe he had, who knows. _Damn, I'm rambling like a lunatic while he's—God I don't believe this—he's got hold of my hand and now he's kissing it. Groucho Marx meets Jane Austen._ "No, Krycek." It wasn't as if he meant it, he was just testing that his voice still worked. The touch of Krycek's hand and lips were sabotaging Mulder's nervous system. 

Krycek stopped kissing his hand but didn't let go of it. When he looked up at Mulder, his eyelids were heavy with desire. "Let me make it easier for you, Mulder. As you know, I'm not above blackmail. I finished my report this afternoon but there's no way I'm going to let you or anyone else see it unless you fuck me first. Look at it this way—by taking me to bed, you'll be doing a service for your country." 

"You know me," Mulder managed to say. "A patriot first and last." He gripped onto the counter with his free hand as if it was a piece of wood in a stormy sea. 

"I'll be whatever you want," Krycek was murmuring huskily, kissing with the softest lips along Mulder's left cheekbone, sending goosebumps all over Mulder's body. "What would you like to play? Doctor and patient, bored househusband and delivery boy, alien and abductee, republican senator and construction worker?" 

"Yes," said Mulder who had never found making decisions easy. He couldn't believe he was holding hands with Alex Krycek. 

Krycek giggled and close to, that giggle was as heady as a glass of champagne on a summer's day. It vibrated through Mulder's cheek, heading unerringly for his groin. "Come on, which one? I'll even pretend to be female if that's what you want." 

Mulder groaned and shook his head. No, that wasn't what he wanted at all. He took a deep breath and let go of the counter as if making a dive into the deep end of a pool. _Okay everyone, into the water!_ He swept Krycek into his arms and buried his face in his neck. Krycek smelt wonderful. He felt the young man wrap his arms around him tightly and heard him sigh. Felt his erection digging into his thigh. 

"Alleycat," Mulder murmured into Krycek's neck. He waited for another giggle but it didn't come. 

Instead, Krycek pulled away a little and stared back at him seriously. It seemed he recognised and respected a fellow pervert. "Alleycat is good, I like alleycat. Good for you, Mulder." 

Krycek didn't appear to need time to get into character. He wasn't a method fantasizer who would want to know what breed he was, whether he was neutered, if he came from a happy home and whether his coat was long or short. It was as if he instinctively knew what Mulder wanted. Instead of kissing Mulder's face, Krycek began licking it, in long firm strokes, just like a cat. 

PART THREE 

"Christ," Mulder whispered, feeling as if his knees might buckle under him. He noticed that Krycek too was beginning to tremble with excitement. "I think we'd better take this into the bedroom." 

Krycek smiled wickedly and allowed himself to be led away. Keeping the seductive flow, he began undoing Mulder's shirt and tie while walking backwards into the bedroom, ripping off some buttons in the process, pulling the clothes off Mulder's body. Then he flung off his own t-shirt, sending it flying dramatically through the air. By the time they'd reached the bed, they were both naked from the waist up, panting and tousled. Krycek was bringing new meaning to the term hot date. 

"Lie down for me," Mulder whispered. He pulled off his shoes and socks, not taking his eyes off Krycek for a second. His lean cat-lover lay down on his back, pulled off his jeans with practised ease and sprawled in sluttish abandon on the bed. 

Mulder believed he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Krycek's pale, perfect skin was highlighted by a sheen of excitement. His chest was baby smooth, his legs and arms well defined with muscle and sparsely covered in soft blond down. He was uncircumsized, his cock long and pretty, twitching in need, the sac below rock hard. It didn't look as if he was going to last long and Mulder didn't want him to. In his fantasies, Krycek was always multi-orgasmic and Mulder was already planning to make him come so many times he wouldn't know which way up he was. 

With trembling fingers, Mulder unzipped and pulled off his pants and briefs, leaving them in a heap on the floor. It occurred to him that his bachelor apartment had been transformed into a scene of domestic bliss, clothes all over the place in seductive disarray, and dinner in the oven. He hadn't imagined that he could derive such pleasure from it. It was a state he thought only happened to everyone else. And Krycek seemed happy about it too. As Mulder lay himself over the young man's heavenly body, Krycek was all but purring in delight. 

Mulder kissed him, taking it slowly at first, wanting to savour the taste of those divine full lips, licking and sucking at them, then plunging his tongue firmly between them, making Krycek moan with each thrust as if he was being fucked. Krycek's mouth was sweet and welcoming, like the rest of him, his moans vibrating through Mulder's body, driving him on to kiss with brutal insistence. 

Krycek began to writhe like a flame underneath him, then becoming more frantic, he started digging his nails into Mulder's back, alleycat style. 

Mulder broke the kiss, smiling down at the needy panting Krycek. "Hey, take it easy," he teased. In answer, Krycek dragged his nails down hard over Mulder's back, leaving angry weals from shoulder to waist. Mulder cried out and grabbed Krycek's wrists, pinning them down on the pillow over his head. "Hellcat!" he snapped. 

Krycek looked up at him innocently. Then he somehow managed to topple Mulder over and landed up on top, rubbing himself lasciviously over Mulder's body, licking his chest and nipples with rough hungry abandon, nipping the flesh here and there with his teeth. He was proving to be far more of a handful than Mulder had anticipated, the sexiest, most delightful and demanding handful. It was a wonder Krycek had managed to get through life so far without being eaten alive or fucked to death. 

On an impulse of sheer lust, Mulder grabbed hold of Krycek's swollen cock and gripped it hard, needing to make him come, wanting to tame and subdue this extraordinary wildcat lover. In a mirror image of Mulder's fantasy, Krycek pulled himself up on all fours and began furiously humping Mulder's grip, giving into his demands with the ease of one who could produce an orgasm any time he wanted. Krycek threw back his head and thrust with delicious obscene appetite. He seemed to be saying, see how beautiful I am when I move like this, how lucky you are to be able to watch me, enjoy it, fuck me with your eyes and your fist, see how handsome I am when I come... 

All at once, Krycek gave out a rigid choking sob, shooting white strings of semen all over Mulder's chest and stomach. He reacted to each contraction of pleasure with a wrenching, almost painful cry, as if the bliss was costing him more in emotion than he could afford to give. Then he collapsed, boneless and satiated, beside Mulder, hugging him tightly as if needing an anchor to reality, overcome by his own demonstration of passion. 

_What was it Alice had said? "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."_ Well, yes, Mulder supposed he ought but he wasn't, he was feeling incredibly pleased with himself, the world in general and Krycek in particular. As he lay beside him, gently kissing his wet forehead, listening to his breathing gradually return to normal, Mulder felt super-charged and vibrant, a powerhouse of sexual desire. His erection was throbbing with the need for release but not unpleasantly so. Mulder could be as obsessive and focussed about sex as he was about his work, able to maintain an erection for as long as he felt driven to do so. And he felt driven to fuck Alex Krycek all night. He'd wanted him for so long, as long it seemed as Krycek had wanted him. Who knew when this absurd dream might be over—he may never have the chance again. 

Running his fingers over his stomach and chest, Mulder collected together some of Krycek's sperm and smoothed it over his erection. When he rose up onto his knees, collecting more of it on his fingertips, Mulder met Krycek's eyes. They were hungry again, heavy lidded with lust and longing. 

"Alex," Mulder said softly, "you're enough to tempt a yogi down from his sacred mountain." 

Krycek broke into an answering smile. "Hey, you called me Alex," he said with awe. This obviously meant more to him than the compliment itself. 

Mulder considered a smartass put down but decided against it. Krycek seemed so vulnerable and open, lying there in a post coital daze, who was he to spoil the mood? Still holding fingerfuls of sperm in one hand, Mulder used the other to stroke and caress the silkiness of Krycek's thighs. Luxuriating in the sensual experience, Krycek began to twist slightly under Mulder's hands, opening his legs in silent provocative invitation, already half erect. _Slutcat!_ Mulder grinned down at him. 

"You're beautifully hung, Mulder," Krycek murmered, as naturally as if he were complementing Mulder on his eyes. "And so big, so very big. Can't wait to feel that beauty fucking me." 

_Oh God._ Mulder closed his eyes, feeling a massive surge in his erection that took him almost to the edge. _That was cheating, alleycats weren't supposed to talk. But, then again, if they did, I guess that's just the sort of thing they'd say._

"Up, Alex!" he encouraged, as if to a lazy pet. "I want you on all fours, there's a good boy!" 

Krycek rolled his eyes mildly, looking at Mulder with an indulgent well-if-I-really-must expression but he wasted no time in arranging himself on hands and knees, thrusting his buttocks in the air with greedy anticipation. Seeing such a mouthwatering sight before him, Mulder decided against using the sperm. He'd been given a better idea. He grabbed hold of Krycek's muscular cheeks and pulled them a little apart, revealing the dark puckered opening there. Exquisite. It twitched a little in excitement. Mulder buried his face in the sweet crack and began licking thoroughly at Krycek's anus. 

"God!" Krycek nearly shrieked, clutching violently at the bedclothes. "Oh my God!" 

_I think he likes it,_ Mulder decided. He revelled in the fact that he'd taken someone of Krycek's obvious experience by surprise and licked harder, pushing at the tiny opening with the tip of his tongue. Krycek tasted marvellously rich and musty. 

"Mulder!" Krycek's voice was a mixture of lust and terror. Mulder wondered if this was the first time anyone had had the imagination to do this to him. He remembered the first time he'd had it done to him—he'd nearly hit the ceiling. Krycek's anal muscles suddenly gave and Mulder shoved his tongue inside as far as it would go. Krycek screamed out, his voice cracked and panicky, thrashing about wildly while Mulder explored his inner channel, revolving his tongue to lick at the walls, then fucking him hard with it. 

Without even having his penis touched, Krycek screamed again and launched into an explosive climax, collapsing onto his chest so that his buttocks were even higher in the air. Mulder didn't stop tonguing him until Krycek's protests started to get tearful. He was almost weeping Mulder's name over and over again. 

Drunk with the effect he was having on the young man, Mulder felt helpless to hold back. Those succulent cheeks were still in the air, anal muscles open and throbbing. Guiding his erection, Mulder pushed firmly all the way inside in one go, his balls bouncing against Krycek's smooth thighs. 

"Mulder, you bastard!" Krycek screamed out. "You're so big, so fucking big!" 

Mulder made a mental note to look into getting the place soundproofed. But in spite of his protests, Krycek had lifted himself up on his hands again, thrusting back hungrily against Mulder's onslaught, squeezing down on his cock with strong internal muscles. So strong, in fact, that Mulder knew he couldn't hold out for very long. Being inside Krycek at last, he knew that this was all he ever wanted, he belonged here, this was pure bliss, finally possessing and enjoying this beautiful man. Mulder thrust for as long and as hard as he could, trying to maintain his rhythm, giving his boy-cat a run for his money, soon having him collapsing down onto his chest again, wailing and moaning, digging nails into the mattress instead of Mulder's skin. 

"Oh, Alex, what a beautiful little fuck you are! Alex! Ugh!" And he was coming, screaming out his own release, pumping hot jets of sperm deep into Krycek's trembling body. And miraculously Krycek was coming too, weaker this time, but there were the unmistakeable inner contractions of climax bearing down on Mulder's cock, milking him with exquisite fingers of muscle. So good to come together like that... magic... white rabbits... sleeping gryphons... The best orgasm of Mulder's life seemed to have sent his brain cells out to dinner. He wondered distantly if it was just for a snack or a full three course meal. 

Slowly, Mulder gave up the feeble fight against gravity and let the whole weight of his body bear down on Krycek. Together, they sank heavily down onto the bed like rocks falling to the ocean floor. Krycek let out a moan of protest as his over-sensitised penis was squashed under their combined weight. Mulder moved onto his side and pulled Krycek into his arms. They fitted together snugly, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. If only everything else around them would fit... 

Krycek was resting his cheek on Mulder's shoulder and it felt wet and hot. His chest was heaving a little as if he was trying to bring himself under control. Mulder ran his fingers gently through Krycek's silky hair. 

"Hey," he whispered, making an attempt to lighten the mood, "does this mean I get to read your report now?" 

Krycek gave a damp snuffly grunt but kept silent. 

Mulder tried again. "I know it's bad to ask for ego strokes but tell me when you first wanted this." 

Krycek sniffed. "When I said _Agent Mulder?_ and you said _Yeah?_ " His voice was huskier than ever. 

"But you'd only just met me." 

"That's right." He cleared his throat. "When did you first want this?" 

"When you said _Agent Mulder?_ " 

They both laughed. 

"Mulder?" 

"Mmmm?" 

"Are you sorry it's happened?" 

Mulder squeezed him. Hard. "No, not sorry at all. Though I have the feeling I ought to be. It just feels so—inevitable, as if I've been waiting for it to happen." 

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly right." He fell silent. And then: "Mulder?" 

"Mmmm?" 

"I'd love a beer, I'm parched and it's another half hour til dinner's ready." 

Mulder grinned. His pussycat was feeling better and just like a cat, had him catering for his every need. 

"Sure." _Sure, no matter that I can hardly walk or function properly yet, no problem._

When Mulder staggered into the kitchen, the delicious smells coming from the stove reminded him forcibly that he had skipped lunch that day. Running a hand through his untidy hair, he opened the refrigerator. It sparkled like the rest of his apartment. An exotic looking salad lay in a bowl all ready to eat. _Wait a minute... No, he's not getting away with this, however beautiful and sexy and adoring he is._

Mulder grabbed two beers and stormed back into the bedroom. The window was open, the icy breeze reminding him that it was snowing outside. 

Krycek and his overnight bag were gone. 

* * *

"Hi, Mulder." Frohike strolled into his living room an hour later, clapping his mittened hands together for warmth. The snow, it seemed, had stopped. He looked cold but dry. 

Mulder groaned in greeting and remained lying on the sofa. Someone on TV was assuring him that their product killed every known germ to man. "Why don't I feel surprised to see you? Did you bring along any white rabbits? Any opium-smoking caterpillars?" 

Frohike ignored him and walked through to the kitchen. "There, I told him," he called through, "I told him you'd never think to get dinner from the stove." 

"Not much point," Mulder drawled, easing himself up into a sitting position. "I can't even pronounce it. I wouldn't know what to do with it." 

"It's just food, Mulder, real food. You know, that stuff that goes on plates rather than coming from a carton." 

He got to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Frohike was serving up the dinner that Krycek had prepared with such flair. Mulder couldn't help but wonder at the contrast he made with Krycek. Beauty and the Beast. "Any chance of someone telling me what's going on round here? Where's the Galloping Gourmet? Gone off to clean someone else's apartment, cook their dinner, fuck with them and then disappear into thin air?" 

"Krycek said you'd be angry. Come on, eat up." Frohike carried two plates of Harira into the living room. 

"You're both crazy if you think I'm going to eat that. I want to know what's going on." 

Frohike looked at him severely. "Eat. I'll tell you while you eat." 

It was yet another ultimatum. Mulder was growing tired of them and yet it did make sense. His stomach was almost turning in on itself with hunger. He took a desultory mouthful and caught himself just in time before going "Mmmm!" and spoiling his show of indifference. It was incredibly delicious, exotic and spicy, just like Krycek himself. _May he rot in hell._

"You forgot the fresh lemon segments," Mulder said with his mouth full. "Skinner says you have to serve this with fresh lemon." It was good to be able to find something to bitch about. 

"You can't blame him," Frohike said suddenly. "There was no way he'd have lived through all the investigations if he'd stayed here. He's given you all you need." Frohike tossed a digital tape onto the coffee table. "It's all there." 

Mulder stared across at the tape, taking another mouthful, finding to his surprise that it was more important to him to know where Krycek was than to snatch the tape up and shove it straight into his computer. 

"You're going to love it, Mulder. Apparently, part two's even hotter than part one. You even get to find out Cancer Man's real name!" 

"Betty MacAllister?" Mulder suggested. 

"Don't let's be silly." 

"Where's he gone?" 

"Hong Kong. He knows someone who can give him protection there." 

Mulder sighed. "Why couldn't he tell me himself?" He remembered Krycek's hot tears on his shoulder. 

"He told me he wasn't sure what you'd do with him once you had the information." 

_Christ, no wonder the poor kid had cried. He trusts me about as much as I trust him. We're going to make a wonderful couple._ "What if I want to see him?" Mulder asked simply. 

"Ah," Frohike said, with the air of a teacher whose student had just come up with the correct answer, "he was really hoping you'd say that. That's no problem. He has a friend who works in the Kowloon Hotel. Once you book in there, he'll let Krycek know you've arrived." 

"That'll be convenient if I'm here in Washington fancying a quick lunchtime fuck." 

Frohike gave him a severe look. "Think how romantic it'll be. And then when you've locked up the entire Consortium singlehanded, you can bring him home and live happily ever after." 

"You know, Frohike, sometimes you really worry me." 

"You're not the first person to say that," Frohike said cheerfully. 

_I have very little time to prove to you that you can't live without me._ Mulder put down his plate. "There's one thing I can never forgive him for." 

"Only one thing?" There was a tense silence while Frohike wondered what was coming. "What?" he asked finally. 

"He threw out my Chinese meal." 

"The boy deserves a medal," Frohike said fervently. 

"I told you, I was saving it for Halloween!" 

"But Halloween is eight months away." 

"Exactly! Think how impressive it would have been by then." 

Mulder took their empty plates out into the kitchen and divided the remains of the meal between them. He added a little fresh lemon juice with what he hoped was flair, smiling a little as he remembered Skinner and his hot cooking tips. 

He glanced over to the counter where Krycek had so blatantly and efficiently seduced him and broke into a grin. He wondered how soon he could get away to Hong Kong and if Krycek would be in the mood for alien and abductee. 

* * *

_Although it is true that children tend to  
enhance a relationship, many childless   
couples have found it possible to enjoy a   
rich and fulfilling union._

Standing at the reception desk of the Kowloon Hotel, Mulder wondered if he should be making some special sign or acting in a certain way. All he knew was that a friend of Krycek's worked in the hotel. This could mean anyone from the cleaner to the owner of the place. 

And since the arrangement was that this friend would let Krycek know when Mulder had booked in, the most obvious candidate seemed to be the desk clerk. But when Mulder gave the man his name, enunciating it rather loudly and clearly as if to someone hard of hearing, the clerk's expression remained inscrutable and unencouraging. 

Mulder wondered if he should go to the bar and announce to the bartender in a loud and expansive kind of way that he was an American named Mulder just arrived in Hong Kong for the first time and, say, did the guy know a friend of his, Alex Krycek? Back home, admitting to having Krycek as a friend was tantamount to an acknowledgement of insanity in the family but here in Hong Kong things could be different. Or should he use his charm on every waiter in the hotel he could find? Or rather, since jet lag was making his legs feel like lead, shouldn't he simply go to bed for a few hours' sleep? 

He'd been allocated room number 42. Nice touch. The answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. No, that was Alex Krycek. _God._ Mulder caught that thought and held onto it in a mixture of fascination and horror. That had quite possibly been the most dangerous thought he'd ever had in his life. He felt himself breaking out in a sweat and checked over his shoulder as he walked towards his room, hoping that no-one else had picked up on it. 

Fantasies of Krycek arranged provocatively on the bed for his arrival turned out to be misguided. Damn. They only had four days. Mulder wanted to make the most of every precious second, why didn't Krycek? Maybe the little wretch had changed his mind or his location or his object of desire. Maybe Cancerman had somehow managed to get to him, maybe he'd been kidnapped by the Triads. _Maybe I should soak in the tub and anaesthetise my imagination with alcohol._ It was just possible that Krycek was giving him this time to rest up. _Had you thought of that?_

Because Krycek had a history of surprising members of his family in the shower, Mulder opened the bathroom door and carefully checked around. No Krycek but there were a variety of toiletries to experiment with. He poured two different oils into the running water. 

As he undressed, Mulder looked around his room. It was like countless other hotel rooms he'd stayed in, but the bed was excellent, a modern looking four poster, voluptuous and promising. He threw back the cover to reveal a single red rose which made his stomach churn in excitement. Krycek had been here. Mulder inhaled the smell of the rose and closed his eyes, revelling in the romance of the moment. Obviously going to bed had been the right move. He placed the box of chocolates he'd bought for Krycek on the nightstand with the rose. 

The bath failed to relax Mulder as much as he'd hoped. He'd been strung out on longing for days now, unable to concentrate or sit still for long. There had been a suggestion of relief in Scully's wave as she'd seen him off at the airport and he couldn't blame her for it. The plane journey had been hell. He'd visited the bathroom simply for something to do so often that the air hostesses had begun to smile at him sympathetically, as if he had a bladder disease. 

Mulder flopped into bed, smelling like a Hong Kong whore, and flicked through early evening programmes on the TV. Just like home, with the distinct advantage of being completely unintelligible, and just like home, it finally sent him to sleep. 

"Be still, earthling!" 

Mulder had been dreaming that someone was trying to handcuff him to the bed and woke to find dream state and reality to be one and the same thing. "Krycek! You fucking idiot!" 

Illuminated from behind by the TV, Krycek was busy handcuffing Mulder's legs to the bed. He was giggling to himself in a maniacal sort of way and, combined with the alien voices and sounds from the TV, the effect was a little weird. Mulder thought of the smiling, doll-like air hostess on the plane. _Welcome to Hong Kong. We hope you enjoy your stay._

"Krycek! Stop fucking about and come here and be kissed!" He pulled violently at the handcuffs clamped round his wrists, frustrated at being unable to grab hold of his lover. 

"My name's Vortex," Krycek insisted pedantically. He was kneeling between Mulder's splayed knees, smiling gleefully at him. "You smell nice." 

"What kind of name is that for an alien?" 

"Okay, you think of a better one, you're the expert." He was moving stealthily up the bed on all fours. 

"You're out of luck, I'm not familiar with alien names." 

"Then stop bitching." Krycek was right over him now, still on all fours, tantalisingly out of reach. The eternal leather jacket was still present, Mulder was glad to see. "And why have you stopped calling me Alex?" 

Mulder longed to feel Krycek and leather against his skin. "Because I'm still feeling angry with you for ditching me in Washington. I'd have thought you of all people would have a nodding acquaintance with conditional love." 

"Call me Alex or I won't kiss you. How's that for conditional love?" 

Jungle green eyes glowed down at him in the half light cast by the TV. Perhaps this wasn't the best of times to worry about a little thing like pride. "Okay. Hi Alex Vortex." He could smell leather with a hint of musk, eau de Krycek. Mulder was already as hard as it was possible for him to get. 

"I wouldn't try making jokes with my alien name," Krycek warned, his lips so close now that Mulder could feel their heat. They touched his, briefly and cruelly. "You know the figurative definition of vortex, don't you. A thing viewed as swallowing up those who approach it." 

"Sounds good to me," Mulder managed to say. Now Krycek was nibbling his ear lobe. 

"Not good, earthling, terrifying is more accurate. My mission is to test the limits of your endurance of pleasure." He pushed his tongue inside Mulder's ear and licked around it wickedly. "But I'm only a simple minded alien—I might push you too far and you may die a violent but extremely pleasurable death." 

There was such menace in Krycek's voice that Mulder had to remind himself that this was just a game, though the idea of Krycek killing him with pleasure really didn't seem all that implausible. "No shit," he said through gritted teeth. 

Krycek was running his tongue along Mulder's chin and down his neck, keeping it flat and moist, not rough and pointed as he'd done as an alleycat. It was almost unbearably sensuous. Mulder groaned and grabbed hold of the bedhead. The tongue continued on its way, following a path down his chest and settling for a moment on his navel, where it licked and prodded until Mulder was writhing to try to get away from the intolerable pleasure. The tongue moved on, towards his rampant cock. 

"Oh God, yes please," Mulder breathed fervently. 

All at once, Krycek sat up. "Don't get your hopes up, earthling, it's all part of the torture." Taking no notice of Mulder's agonised groan, Krycek suddenly noticed the box on the night stand. "Ooooh! Chocolates!" The alien grabbed hold of it, tearing off the cellophane and sat squinting at the picture of contents while Mulder quietly made plans for what he would do in retaliation to keep him from moaning and losing face. "Oh, almond whirl, my favourite!" Krycek took hold of three chocolates and shoved them all in his mouth. He was quiet for a while. 

Mulder was reminded of the picture of Tigger at Pooh Bear's table, trying to chew on a mouthful of honey. He cleared his throat meaningfully. "If it's not too much trouble, my favourite happens to be toffee." 

Krycek rumaged in the box. "In that case, earthling, you can have a lime cream." 

"Well, all I can say is that you're the cruellest, most ruthless alien I've met in a long time." 

"Damn right," the alien said with satisfaction. He lay himself over Mulder, who almost came with the pleasure of delayed contact, holding the chocolate between his teeth, Carmen Miranda style. "Come and get it," Krycek said indistinctly. 

Lifting his head off the pillow, Mulder tried to make a grab with his teeth for the chocolate but Krycek only pulled back and took the sweet into his mouth. Mulder was about to protest when the alien bent to cover his mouth with his own, slowly passing the sweet to him with his tongue. Their mouths mingled in an obscenely sensuous mixture of saliva and chocolate. To Mulder, death by pleasure really didn't seem that far away. Their tongues played hard against one another in a passionate bid for dominance and chocolate. 

Krycek was making little moaning sounds, moving his hips hungrily, his cock as hard as iron against Mulder's thigh. Apparently it was getting to him too. _Serves you right,_ Mulder thought with satisfaction, _if you will be this sexy, what do you expect?_ Finally the alien broke the kiss, flushed, panting, full lips lush with chocolate and saliva, and climbed off the bed. 

"Where the fuck are you going?" Mulder complained with his mouth still full. And it wasn't lime, after all, but toffee. 

"To prepare the torture," said the alien, walking a little unsteadily to the kettle, switching it on with a flourish. He treated Mulder to a form of extraterrestrial strip tease, twirling items of clothing around on one finger, then sending them flying through the air with careless abandon. Mulder chewed and watched him with narrowed eyes. _Alex Krycek, you little bastard, just wait until you let me loose, you're in sooo much trouble._ Smiling sweetly, Krycek pulled down his jeans and turned his back to Mulder, moving his bare behind in a teasing obscene pantomime of intercourse. 

At the moment when Mulder had reached screaming point, the kettle clicked off and Krycek was diverted. Divinely naked, he poured some water into a cup, added a small amount of cold and walked back to Mulder. "Now then, earthling, as they say on your planet, check this out." 

It was at this point that the full extent of Mulder's insanity was brought home to him. Thousands of miles from home, handcuffed and imprisoned in a hotel room by the man who had betrayed him and murdered his father, he was about to indulge in something dangerous and kinky involving a lot of hot water. He should face facts. He wasn't safe to be let out on his own. 

Krycek took a mouthful of hot water, swishing it vigorously around his teeth. Holding onto it, he bent over Mulder's trembling expectant form, swallowing at the last moment, then dragging a red hot tongue from Mulder's chest down to the line of his pubic hair. Mulder yelled out. The sensation was extraordinary, creating a path of fire which culminated in his groin, where it felt as if every single cell in his testicles was on its back, legs in the air from shock. 

"Alex," Mulder croaked, when the faculty of speech had returned to him, "do that again and I'm a dead man." 

"Nonsense," said the alien cheerfully. And then, looking Mulder up and down as if assessing him, "well, you were warned." 

"Oh my God." Mulder watched helplessly as Krycek took another mouthful of hot water. "If I quoted the terms of the Geneva convention, would that do any good? Arghh!" That tongue was busy turning his balls to fire, licking mercilessly around them, then sucking them into boiling hot satin. Krycek was skilled at this, he knew exactly when to withdraw, leaving Mulder tottering at the edge of orgasm but not quite able to make it over the brink. Prolonged disembowelment with a blunt instrument seemed like the only fitting death for Krycek at that moment. 

"You're doing exceedingly well, earthling," said the alien, watching Mulder's tortured, breathless form. "But now, prepare to die." 

Mulder had no breath left for protest. Swirling more hot water round his mouth, Krycek was settling himself resolutely over Mulder's erection. _"Please God, let it be a quick painless death._ Suddenly Mulder's cock was completely enveloped by boiling hot sensation. Krycek was pulling out all the stops, sucking him deeply into his mouth, running his tongue around him and humming, all at the same time. Somewhere, Mulder felt sure, there had to be a federal law against giving someone so much pleasure all at once. Orgasm was absolutely inevitable and as scary as hell. It felt as if Krycek was intent on sucking his brains out through his cock, the pleasure so intense it seemed like pain. Mulder screamed himself hoarse, as much in fear as in ecstasy. Krycek kept sucking relentlessly, giving Mulder the benefit of every possible sensation of pleasure. And he stopped, as well, just at the right moment, when Mulder's penis was becoming oversensitised. Krycek was obviously a Master. 

Mulder lay wrecked and satiated on the bed, pinned down like a butterfly under glass, trying hard to pull himself out of post coital daze. He became very aware that his alien was awfully busy where he was crouching between Mulder's legs and that could surely only mean trouble. Mulder slowly opened his eyes. 

Krycek was lubricating himself and for a full heart-stopping minute, Mulder watched him running fingers slick with Astroglide along the length of his erection, looking down at himself, lost in the sensation of his own touch and the sight of his own beauty. He was breathtaking, his smooth skin irridescent with the light from the TV, lashes sweeping his cheeks, lush moist lips parted and smiling softly. Mulder tried to imagine sharing his life with this beautiful man and failed utterly. It felt cruel somehow, like keeping an exotic creature in a cage, but Mulder knew that like some mad and obsessed scientist, it wouldn't stop him from trying. 

Looking up to meet his gaze, Mulder's alien broke into a wicked smile. "Bet you can't guess where I'm going to put this, earthling." 

Mulder said with all the dignity he could muster, "I don't subscribe to Omni for nothing, you know. I've read all the reports." It dawned on him that Krycek had freed his ankles from the bed, although the handcuffs were still clamped round them. If Mulder could summon up the energy, it would be perfectly possible for him to kick Krycek off the bed onto the floor but then again the boy was having such fun. And the idea of being fucked by Krycek was undeniably exciting. Would he give it as well as he took it? 

"Prepare to die." Krycek lifted Mulder's legs, his hands under his knees. 

"You keep saying that," Mulder pointed out, "but I'm still here." 

"Well okay then," the alien retorted huffily, "this time I really mean it." 

One slick slender finger found its way inside him, heading with deadly accuracy for his prostate. Mulder groaned. Another finger was added and after two or three delicious strokes which broke wave after wave of desire over his nervous system, Mulder had shifted rapidly from blissful daze to rampant hunger. It hardly seemed possible, but then, with Krycek, sexual dynamics could get entirely out of hand. Mulder was bent almost in two as Krycek arranged himself for entrance, an intense look of concentration on his face. He was sweating and breathless, shaking in need, the game forgotten in his urgency. Though he was surprisingly gentle, pushing inside Mulder only inches at a time, groaning and frowning with the effort of controlling himself and, once inside to the hilt, staying still to allow Mulder to adjust to his size. 

But Mulder neither needed nor wanted to adjust. He was feeling wicked. He wanted to give his alien a surprise. Gritting his teeth in concentration, he clamped the full force of his inner muscles round Krycek's erection. His eyes wide with surprise, Krycek yelped in pleasure, snapping forward over Mulder's body, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Mulder repeated the action. 

"Oh Christ, Mulder! You're gonna squeeze me to death!" Krycek hadn't had a chance to work up any rhythm and he began to thrust haphazardly into Mulder's body, wildly seeking relief. "Do it to me!" he was begging, "do it to me again!" Mulder complied, half laughing, half groaning. Krycek's crazy need was infectious. And confusing. It was becoming difficult to tell who was doing the fucking. Mulder's cock was sandwiched deliciously between their writhing bodies, building up a driving momentum of need. "Oh God, Mulder, yes! Do it, do it, yes!" 

Krycek was going wild, crying out in pleasure, kissing and biting whatever part of Mulder's body he happened to throw himself against. He was magnificent in his desire, out of his mind and unashamed, whipping Mulder's need along with his own. Finally, with a scream of fulfillment that must have woken the entire hotel, Krycek launched into orgasm, driving hungrily into Mulder, who came with Krycek as if he was caught up in a whirlwind of frenzied pleasure. Vortex had certainly been a suitable name for Krycek to choose. 

It was unbelievably overwhelming. If it hadn't have been for the pain caused by Krycek's grip on his shoulders, Mulder was sure he would have blacked out completely. As it was, he was barely aware of anything but Krycek's fingers digging into his skin and his sobbing gasps in his ear. Any more fucks like that and Mulder would have to see about raising his life insurance cover. They lay together fighting for breath like two asthmatics surrounded by pollenating flowers. 

"Incredible," Krycek panted. 

"Fucking fantastic," Mulder agreed. And then, when his breathing finally began to slow down, "Alex, could I have my shoulders back, please? You know, when you've finished with them." 

"Oh, right." Krycek seemed to come back to reality, lifting himself wearily off Mulder's body. "Sorry. That was powerful stuff." 

Mulder stretched himself out on the bed gratefully. "You're telling me." He rattled the handcuff chains. "And if I could also have my wrists back?" 

Krycek giggled lazily, lying beside him, running his fingers through Mulder's damp hair. "You're not going to beat me up if I do?" 

"Listen, I haven't the energy. Tomorrow, maybe, if you get lucky." 

"Frohike did explain things to you, didn't he." 

Mulder focused on Krycek's perfect features, arranged now into an expression of mild anxiety. He was obviously concerned, even a little frightened. Mulder thought back to when he'd pinned Krycek down onto the hood of a car, poking a gun into his bleeding face. It was quite a novelty for a man with the nickname of Spooky to be taken so very seriously. He gazed back into Krycek's eyes and acknowledged that the feeling was good. 

"He did explain, Alex, yes. But I wish you could have explained to me yourself." 

Krycek sighed. "I know." He looked even more uneasy. "Trust, as you've probably gathered, is a big problem for me." 

This was perhaps the closest Krycek could get to a sincere apology and Mulder accepted it in that spirit. "It's a problem for both of us. But we're gonna work at it and we're gonna talk it all over. Right?" 

"Sure, Mulder, sure." The reply came too quickly, too easily, but delivered with such enthusiasm that Mulder hadn't the heart to labour the point that it was more than sex games he wanted to work out with Krycek for the next few days. 

"Well?" He rattled the chains again. "For fuck's sake, Alex, I want to hold you so badly." 

Krycek fumbled underneath the pillow for the key and unlocked the cuffs from Mulder's ankles and wrists, kissing them earnestly as he did so. Immediately he was freed, Mulder enveloped him in his arms. Krycek stiffened a little and then relaxed, allowing Mulder to roll over on top of him and cover his body entirely. Mulder sighed with happiness. "Jesus Christ, I've missed you." 

Krycek moaned, a sound that came from deep within him as if it originated from his soul, and wrapped his arms tightly round his lover. "I've missed you too." 

Mulder hugged him harder and received another satisfying moan in response. "So how are you making out in Hong Kong?" 

"Okay. Yeah, okay." Krycek nuzzled his face as close to Mulder's neck as he could manage, like a shy child trying to hide. 

"That's it? Just okay? That's all you have to tell me?" 

Krycek sighed sleepily. "I've only been here six days, Mulder. It takes a while, you know, to get the feel of a place. But I have found myself somewhere to live so I guess that's a start." 

Mulder closed his eyes dreamily. "That's good, Alex. Maybe you'll show me your place tomorrow." 

"Mmmm." It was a non-committal, evasive sound that should have set off alarm bells but Mulder was too sleepy to pick up on it. He wanted so much to stay awake but he was rapidly losing the battle against tiredness. He stifled a yawn. 

"Hey, Mulder, you've had a long flight. Go to sleep now and we can talk tomorrow." 

Unconsciously, he tightened his hold on Krycek. "You'll still be here, won't you." Damn, why did he have to feel so very tired? "You won't fuck off anywhere and leave me behind?" 

Krycek laughed softly and brushed Mulder's forehead soothingly with his fingertips. "No, I won't fuck off anywhere. I want to feel you holding me all night long and I want to wake up with you in the morning. Now, go to sleep." 

Mulder knew he would have to let go. He was vaguely aware of discordant sounds coming from the TV and Krycek settling himself comfortably underneath him and then he lost the fight to keep awake. 

* * *

The terrible opening discords of Don Giovanni, warning the audience of something dark and terrifying, jangled in Krycek's dreaming brain, pulling him further and further into a familiar nightmare world.

Bill Mulder, pale and ghastly with a hole in his temples, stood in the bath waiting in the same way that Krycek had stood once, waiting for him. Though he knew the man was in there, there was always something to lure Krycek in, he was never sure what it was, only that the force of it was irresistible. And Bill Mulder held out his hand to him, like the ghost in the opera, inviting Krycek to hell.

There was nothing else to do but take the offered hand and feel the awful cold of that death grip. As the cold passed along from Bill Mulder's hand, up Krycek's own arm into his body, a howling wind began to pull at them through the plug hole in the bath, which gradually widened until it was large enough to suck them both down it. Down into darkness and fire and screaming heat...

Krycek let out a strangled cry and sat up in bed. It was daylight. The TV was still on which lent no comfort, only added to his disorientation. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"Alex?" Mulder sat up beside him. 

"Bath," Krycek mumbled, shaking off the arm that Mulder had put around him.

"Alex, it's okay. Come here."

"NO!" Krycek was out of bed, grabbing hold of his clothes. "Going for walk," he muttered. Getting outside, walking around, was the only way he could ever shake off the dream. He caught sight of Mulder's beautiful face, his expression confused and conflicted then suddenly resolute.

"Okay," Mulder said matter of factly, "let's walk." 

It appeared that Mulder was used to being dragged suddenly out of bed early in the morning. He was dressed as quickly as Krycek and followed close behind his lover as he hurried out of the room.

"I get it," Mulder said in an attempt at levity, "you want to show me the sights and you're trying to avoid the rush hour."

Krycek was pulling on his leather jacket as he walked. "Something like that," he said grimly.

Mulder fell silent and walked beside Krycek with his hands deep in his jacet pockets.

They hurried through pale early morning streets as if they had somewhere to go and were late getting there. Litter lifted into the air and chased them down the sidewalk, caught in the breeze coming from the docks. A ship's horn sounded from somewhere behind them in the distance. Krycek shivered and pulled up his jacket collar.

He was well aware of Mulder sticking doggedly to his side. If he'd been in bed with anyone else but Mulder, Krycek knew he'd be out walking the streets on his own. No-one understood nightmares better than Mulder. But then again, Mulder was the last person he could confide in about this particular night terror.

It had been a bad idea, this fairy tale romance, attempting to turn fantasy into reality. Krycek's original intention had simply been seduction, to experience the man who'd obsessed him for so long, to take only memories away with him to Hong Kong, salvaging some small good from the wreckage of his mistakes. Now Krycek was sure that even that small good was about to turn sour on him.

They reached a main street where the traffic was thicker and there were more people on the sidewalks. The nightmare was beginning to lose a little of its potency. Gradually, Krycek began to slow his pace, to walk a little easier. Mulder slowed with him and soon they were strolling, glancing into shop windows, looking like a couple of early-bird tourists.

Mulder stopped short outside a herbal medicine shop. Inside, the shelves were lined with old fashioned glass jars containing an unlimited variety of extraordinary herbs. Some looked like thistle heads, some like dried twigs, all of them peculiar. Trust Mulder to be drawn to this particular shop.

"Hey, Alex," he was pointing at the jar of twigs, "imagine how much water you'd need to get those down."

As they stood gazing through the window, their shoulders touching, Mulder put his arm round Krycek's back, squeezing him affectionately. Krycek felt his stomach churn over. "You don't take this stuff like Western medicine, Mulder." His voice was husky with emotion. "They choose herbs suitable for your condition, then you take them home and boil them and drink the infusion."

Mulder wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I hear the Chinese have some hot aphrodisiac receipes."

"You are such a perv." Krycek shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. "You're a fucking aphrodisiac on legs, you are."

"I won't be on legs much longer, Alex, unless I have breakfast soon." There were shadows under Mulder's eyes, adding a few kilos to the weight of Krycek's guilt.

"Can you make it to the next block?" Krycek gave Mulder a quick appraisal. After breakfast, they should get a taxi home and go straight to bed. _To sleep,_ he chided himself, feeling a jolt of pleasure in his cock at the thought. _The poor guy needs to sleep._ "There's a great Dim Sum restaurant on the corner."

* * *

"...And it was so weird because every so often the view through the windscreen would flicker, as if I was watching a film of where I was going."

Krycek lifted his eyebrows. "So what did you do?"

"Well, I stopped the car and got out. And I found I wasn't in Alexandria after all. I was in New Jersey."

"So, what you'd been seeing through the windscreen didn't relate to where you really were." Krycek took another bite of Dim Sum.

"No, not at all. And it gets even weirder because I decided I should phone Scully to ask her advice and I found that I'd brought my remote control unit for the TV, instead of my phone."

"Jesus, Mulder, only you could have a crazy dream like that."

Mulder took a sip of tea. The food was beginning to energise him and put some colour into his face. "But that's not all—when I pressed a number on the remote, what do you think happened?"

"Let me guess." Krycek was very much aware of how they'd slipped easily into their partner routine. When they'd worked together, exchanging dreams from the previous night had been an established practice. Krycek knew too well what Mulder was leading up to. "You found yourself on the Larry Sanders Show."

"Wrong." Mulder grinned. "The scenery changed. Every time I entered a new number, I found myself somewhere else. New York City. Detroit. So I figured it was just a matter of finding the right number and I could get myself home."

"If I found myself in Detroit, I'd want to get home too. So did you?"

"Sure. I'm not an FBI agent for nothing, you know."

Krycek smiled and looked away, avoiding Mulder's gaze. The tiny restaurant was filling up with shoppers and yawning office workers. Waiters moved around the confined space with practised ease, carrying baskets of Dim Sum balanced on the ends of their fingers.

_Here it comes._

"So, Alex, are you going to tell me about your dream now?"

_Godammit, Mulder._

"No, not now." Krycek's voice became dangerously soft. "Some other time."

"Okay." Mulder appered to accept this. "Any other dream you'd like to tell me about? Any recurring dreams?"

They'd moved onto less dangerous ground and Krycek did in fact have another recurring dream he'd like explained. "Well, yeah, there is this dream I sometimes have... I can see a stretch of beautiful deep blue sea ahead of me and I'm longing to get there and plunge myself into it but I can never quite make it. Either it's too far away or when I finally get there, the tide's right out and I can't reach it."

Mulder nodded. "Sounds like the sea represents something you want very much but for some reason feel you can't have." He paused, staring hard at Krycek. "Can you think of what that might be?"

Krycek looked down at his empty plate. "No. But I'll think about it."

"You're so beautiful." It was a gentle whisper, barely audible over the incomprehensible chatter going on around them. "Your features are almost perfect, do you know that?"

"Cut it out, Mulder." Krycek laughed awkwardly. He looked around him for a waiter. Later on that day, Mulder would want to see the place where he was living. Krycek couldn't possibly take him there. And he couldn't tell him about his dream. Krycek felt a wall of denial closing in around him, shutting him off from the only person he wanted to be close to.

"What's the matter?" Mulder was frowning. "You usually like compliments."

"Guess I'm still a little edgy." He caught the attention of a waiter and motioned for the check.

"Right," Mulder said with heavy emphasis. "Your dream." 

* * *

They travelled back to the hotel in a silence that seemed to collect in the taxi like heavy fog.

Once he had closed the door of their hotel room behind him, Mulder took Krycek into his arms. The young man tried to shake him off at first but then, receiving a well placed kiss on the neck, melted into the embrace willingly enough. Mulder was beginning to learn the extent of his power over Krycek and he was discovering that his touch seemed to be irresistible to him. This was worth bearing in mind, particularly for moments like this when words had brought them to a stalemate. He ran his hands over Krycek's back, soothing him, treating him like a skittish nervous animal. Mulder didn't let go of him until he felt the muscles begin to relax. Krycek sighed, a sigh that was a little ragged around the edge.

"Bath time," Mulder suggested gently.

"Then bed time," Krycek added, brushing back the hair that fell over Mulder's forehead. "You must be bushed."

While he ran the bath, Mulder took another inventory of the different oils and settled on the rosemary aroma which he thought might appeal to the chef in Krycek. He undressed quickly, throwing the clothes in a heap in the corner. He tested the temperature of the water with his foot. Perfect. He climbed in, standing in the water, deciding whether to be a hero and take the tap end.

Krycek walked in through the door, wonderfully naked. Mulder held out his hand to him.

In a matter of seconds, all the blood seemed to drain from Krycek's face.

"Fuck." A small strangled sound. He backed out of the bathroom in such a hurry that it seemed to Mulder as if Krycek had seen a ghost.

"Alex?" Mulder stood helplessly in the water. "Alex, what the fuck is with you this morning?" He waited for a reply. When none came, he sighed heavily and climbed out of the bath. He took a few soggy steps into the bedroom.

Krycek was pulling on his jeans with shaking hands. _Where have I seen this before?_ Mulder thought tiredly.

"Alex, if you think I'm accompanying you on yet another whirlwind tour of Hong Kong, you can forget it. As you put it so poetically yourself, I'm bushed."

Nothing. A frantic scrabble for shoes.

"What the hell is wrong now?"

Krycek grabbed his leather jacket.

"You little bastard, for Christ's sake talk to me, say something!"

Krycek opened the door. "It's not going to work, Mulder," he said, his voice cracking.

He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Mulder wasn't surprised by the message, only by the method of delivery.

A young Chinese dressed in a business suit, carrying a tray, knocking on the door of his hotel room.

"Morning coffee and cakes, sir."

"I didn't order any."

"On the house," the young man said.

Mulder let him in. If this was Krycek's friend, he wanted him where he could beat the hell out of him. Someone was going to have the hell beaten out of them today and it may as well be him. There was an envelope on the tray, addressed to Mulder in Krycek's neat handwriting.

"Where is he?" This wasn't so very far from the scene he'd had with Frohike. Did Krycek ever do any of his own communicating? What was it about him that had people going out of their way to protect him?

The young man looked uneasy. "Please read letter. It will explain."

"It says goodbye. I don't need to read it. I have strange telepathic powers." The irony of this was lost on his visitor. Mulder was glad that he hadn't listened to the demands of his body for sleep. Fully dressed, he was ready for what might happen and it had happened sooner than he had expected. "You're Krycek's friend. Tell me, how do you manage to get to know him? I can't get him to stay still for long enough."

"Enjoy your coffee, sir." The Chinese was backing politely towards the door.

Mulder grabbed a knife from the tray and waved it under the young man's throat. "We're going for a visit," he said menacingly. "And I think you know who I want to see."

There was excitement in the slanted eyes where Mulder had expected to see fear. "We playing American gangsters?"

_Jesus._ Still it was absurd to expect normality from a friend of Krycek's. "That's right. And if you don't help me, you'll end up wearing a cement overcoat."

"Cement overcoat?" He looked puzzled.

Maybe they were out of fashion in gangsterland these days. "Move!"

* * *

Krycek's friend, Mulder discovered, was called Kat, though he seemed confused when asked if this was his surname or his first name.

Kat had known Krycek back in Washington when he used to frequent his father's takeout. Kat's father had been seriously behind on the rent and late one night, a couple of heavies paid him a visit, making lurid threats over what would happen if he didn't give them the rent money. Unseen in a quiet corner, Krycek had been waiting for a number 12 and 54—Kat obviously remembered the occasion vividly—and had drawn his gun, issuing some colourful threats of his own and seeing the two men off the premises. Next day, Krycek went to see the landlord and came to a sensible arrangement with him regarding repayment of the rent.

Yet more facets to Krycek's character for Mulder to add to his growing collection: hero, social worker, loyal friend. For what could Krycek hope to have gained from helping an impoverished Chinese family but friendship? Curiouser and curiouser indeed.

They drove further and further into the heart of the Tsimshatsui district until Kat stopped outside an enormous seventeen storey building, euphemistically called Chungking Mansions. The mere sight of it had a similar effect on the spirits as the house in Psycho.

Unbelievably, it was worse inside. To look up the stairwell serving the seventeen floors was to have an unwelcome vision of Dante's Inferno. Dark, dirty, festooned with pipes and wires and covered in what appeared to be the debris of half a century. Clothes were strung across on washing lines and they too were covered here and there in rubbish, discarded plastic bags, newspapers, used toilet paper.

"Christ," Mulder said.

He called up the lift. When the door heaved open, the smell of urine strongly suggested that people used it as a toilet as well as a means of transport. A notice on the far wall read "The Irresponsible for Accident due to Overloading" in uncertain letters. A couple of cockroaches ran out, taking a short cut from floor to floor.

Mulder swallowed. "I think we'll take the stairs."

As they climbed, cockroaches scuttling away from their feet, Mulder felt a surge of anger. Kat was supposed to be Krycek's friend. The quality of his suit suggested that he had a good position in the hotel—after what Krycek had done for his family, how could he let him live in a place like this? By the time they'd reached the fifth floor, Mulder could no longer restrain his feelings. He told Kat exactly what he thought of him.

"Hong Kong rents sky high," Kat replied, holding his hand above his head to demonstrate just how high they were. "This place okay. Some hotel staff live here. You should see building next door."

Mulder shook his head and carried on up the stairs. "Not if I can possibly help it."

"Cockroaches not too bad here," Kat continued, sounding like someone from the health department. "Next door, they aggressive. They attack you."

Mulder made a mental note of this, filing it away for possible investigation later. Meanwhile, he decided that six days in this building had to be sufficient penance for every single sin that Krycek had committed from the age of 10 onwards. Kat finally stopped outside number 901 on the sixth floor, next door to the toilets. Maybe they were used when the lift was engaged.

"Here. Krycek live here."

"Do you have a key?"

Kat fumbled in a pocket and pulled out enough keys to serve a maximum security prison. They jangled ominously. He hesitated. "He'll be angry. Very angry."

Mulder nodded at the lock. "You don't have to stick around for the showdown."

After he had unlocked the door, Kat melted away into the shadows of the hallway. There were plenty to choose from. Mulder edged inside the room, bracing himself for what he might find.

The place was barely large enough for a bed. Rush matting lined the floor, looking as if it was used by the local rats to exercise their jaws. A coat was flung over the window in place of a blind. There was a futon on the floor, the only comfort in sight, and it was occupied by a barefooted Krycek, aiming a gun at Mulder's head. Kat was right. Krycek was angry. A half empty bottle of wine stood on the floor beside him. His eyes seemed even larger than usual, swollen and red rimmed. 

"What the fuck are you doing here, Mulder?" It was almost a snarl, he was like a cornered wounded animal. Mulder ached for him.

"Put the gun down, Alex," Mulder said gently. "You're not going to use it, so put it down."

Krycek jumped to his feet. He was in that state of mind where alcohol barely has any effect. He pressed the gun against Mulder's temples and his hands were steady, deadly. "How can you be so sure I won't use it? I shot your father, right here."

"I know." Mulder fought to remain calm. Nothing would be gained from both of them going out of control. "And you've been dreaming about it, haven't you? How often do you have that dream, Alex?"

Krycek backed off at this and stood staring wildly at Mulder with the gun hanging by his side. "You knew the dream was about your father? You knew all the time?"

"No, no I didn't. I only realised it had something to do with him when you fled out of that bathroom." Mulder took a step forward. Strangely, even though he was armed, Krycek flinched at the movement. "But this isn't about the dream, is it? Or even the fact that you think I can never forgive you for my father's death." He saw Krycek begin to tremble, the gun shaking in his hand. "This is about your inability to forgive yourself, isn't it, Alex? That's why you ran away from me in Washington and that's the reason why you're running now. Hiding from the Consortium, bad dreams, they're just smoke screens covering up the real truth you can't face up to."

Krycek seemed to crumple up at this, folding down into a tight ball on the futon, his arms around his knees. All Mulder could see was the crown of his shiny hair.

"I bet you thought that giving us that information would have the same effect as the confessional for a Roman Catholic. You hoped it might purge you, that you could push it all behind you and move on. And it might have worked if you hadn't got yourself involved with me. I'm a constant reminder, aren't I, Alex? Death's Head at the feast. The ghost in Don Giovanni."

At this, Krycek jerked his head up to look at Mulder, his face wet with silent tears.

"I phoned Frohike. He told me what you'd said." Mulder shrugged apologetically. "Hell, I'm a psychologist, it's a bad habit of mine, I know, but I was trying to piece together your state of mind." He heard Krycek give out a painful shuddering sigh, burying his face back between his knees. Mulder knelt down in front of him, softening the tone of his voice. "I know how terrible it is to live with guilt. For me, it's most terrifying feature is its omnipresence. You wish you could impose on it some kind of latitude and longitude, and be able to say, okay, this is its length and breadth, it starts here, it stops there, this is what I have to deal with. But it doesn't work like that, does it, Alex? If only it could."

Mulder put out his hand, giving Krycek's hair a tentative stroke. His touch wasn't rejected. "Thing is, Alex, we're two of a kind, we can help each other." Using slow calming strokes, Mulder ran his fingers over Krycek's hair from the top of his head down to the back of his neck, trying to soothe away some of the pain. "You haven't asked me how things are going in Washington, guess you were so hung up on guilt you didn't want to know. Truth is, Alex, we need you there, I need you there. I keep coming up against information I don't understand, I have so many questions for you to answer that I'm not sure I can do it alone."

Mulder eased himself down on the futon to sit beside Krycek and place a comforting arm around him. "Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't stay in Hong Kong. After all, you've got yourself a really nice place here, why should you give all this up for me?"

"You're a real comedian, Mulder," Krycek mumbled to his knees.

"All I'm asking is that you consider acting out a little fantasy of mine, in which you come and live with me in Washington and transform my lonely bachelor apartment into a home. And I have the kitchen redecorated and get stocked up with every fresh herb and exotic spice known to man. And I even let Skinner come round to talk cuisine with you. There'll be clean sheets and dirty movies and chocolate and a continuous supply of astroglide."

Krycek looked up at him. "And we all live happily ever after."

"Now you're getting the hang of it." Mulder smiled at him happily.

"You're sick, Mulder. Even sicker than I imagined."

"That clinches it, then. Right? We're made for each other." There was a scuttling sound behind him. Mulder preferred not to look round and see what it was.

"Fantasy and sickness," Krycek said thoughtfully. "You think they're good foundations for a relationship?"

"Sure," Mulder drawled. "When I think of all the lousy relationships going on around me, they're as good foundations as any."

Krycek shook his head, laughing softly. He untied himself from his knot of arms and legs and snuggled against Mulder's chest. "I love you."

Mulder held him close, closing his eyes. "I love you too, Alex."

They sat holding each other for some time. A baby was crying in the next door room. Further down the corridor, people were arguing. The drama of life was playing out all around them and for the first time, Mulder felt like one of players, instead of an outsider looking in like a child with its nose pressed up against a window.

Finally they decided on a late lunch in the Dim Sum restaurant. Mulder packed up Krycek's overnight bag and they walked down the stairs, Mulder leading the way through cockroaches and rubbish, Krycek following close behind, like two protagonists in a fairy tale, facing the first of many trials together on the road ahead.

end... 


End file.
